A Complication
by SassandCharisma
Summary: An intended rescue on Sundermount and a subsequent visit by a certain Witch of the Wilds leaves Hawke and his companions saddled with an unconscious young girl - with some importance to Thedas. Takes place between Act 2 and 3.
1. Rescue

The Wounded Coast was dry and cold, wind rattling the dying rushes and setting the dead trees rustling. Hawke squinted into the sharp wind, crouched low over the rocky outcrop and looking down to the smog shrouded ruin below. Armored men moved amongst it, and he strained to find a sigil, a uniform, anything to identify them.

"Slavers." Merrill fluted, halfway up a tree and craning her neck to look down. "They carry whips and chains."

Hawke sighed, feeling the responsive tension about a meter behind him as Fenris' hand went for his sword. No sneaking around this group, then. "You needn't concern yourself, Hawke. I'll be done with these in a moment." His voice had the cold snarl of anger in it, and Hawke shook his head. "There's mages down there, Fenris. And if they're Tevinters, they're probably prepared for you. We do this as a group, or not at all."

Zevran gave a deep sigh, leaning back against the cliff face and idly cleaning his nails with an obscenely oversized dagger. "Shall we talk them to death, hmm? Or get this wrapped up nice and fast so we can get back to the city and commence with the drinking and revelry?"

Hawke raised an eyebrow back at him. "Not looking forward to a fight, Zevran?"

Zevran rolled his eyes up to the sky, his Antivan accent tinged with self pity and humor. "How time changes us, friend. Were our elven friend not spoiling for a fight, I would suggest avoiding them entirely."

"They've got someone." Merrill's soft voice floated down from the tree. "A girl. Tied up."

Zevran sheathed the dagger. "Well, then. That changes things entirely. Shall we?"

The fight was fast and brutal. As skilled as Fenris was, he tended to turn slavers into ruined piles of meat as opposed to corpses, and Hawke was usually leery of bringing him along if they thought they'd come across some. The stink was incredible, the blood already congealing into black sticky pools on the sand. Merrill, the only one still clean of the group, was crouching in front of a girl, unconscious and bound. "Hawke – may I borrow your cloak?"

Zevran had finished wiping off his blades and had sauntered over to look over Merrill's head, giving a low whistle. "Can I assume and hope we are taking her with us? We can't leave her here, most obviously."

Hawke removed his cloak, thumping wearily over to the group. Fenris was keeping his distance, warily eying the campsite for signs of a second group or patrols. Hawke let him stand guard and crouched by Merrill, blinking in surprise as the slim mage undid the last rope and rolled her on to her back. She was very white, with a sheen of illness, her skin milky pale in the overcast afternoon. She had blonde hair, cropped the length of her shoulders, and her hands, feet and knees were smeared with dirt, shockingly dark on that pale skin. Merrill opened one of her eyes, and it was a dilated, ocean blue. She sighed. "She won't be coming out for a while. She's in shock. And cold, surely." She wore a white slip, barely covering her, torn and stained with dirt, the fabric an odd stretchy type Hawke had not seen before. She looked very young, and assumedly highborn, for she had no calluses on her hands or feet and no scars of any kind. She also had the kind of ripe plumpness that came with wealthy living. Hawke sighed with annoyance. "No, we can't leave her here. We'll bring her back to my house and get Anders to have a look at her. Hopefully she'll wake up and shed some light on how we can give her back to her family." He draped the cloak over her, tucking it under her and awkwardly gathering her up into his arms. "_Ugh, _heavier than she looks. Or taller. Either way, I'm bloody well hoping one of you is going to carry her for a while."

Hawke surrendered her to Isabela when he got home, the Rivaini woman's amber eyes glowing with delight as he laid her out in one of the spare rooms. "Is she for _us_? What a beautiful thing! Plump as a pretty little pigeon!" Before he could stop her, she reached out and lifted the top of her slip, looking down at her breasts. "I _do _like nice nipples. Did you look? They're _bright _pink!"

Merrill made a little noise of horrified amusement and Hawke lifted his hand to stall Zevran, eyes bright with curiosity as he headed towards the bed to confirm Isabela's claim. "_No _one is looking at her nipples. _Stop _that. She's a fugitive, obviously, and she's in no position to fend you pair of ravenous beasts off." Hawke stopped and reconsidered. "That said, could I possibly trouble you to run a bath for her? I was going to let Merrill help her, but I think she's going to be a little too – um – odd. If she regains consciousness." Hawke looked sideways at Merrill. "Sorry, Merrill."

"Oh, that's quite all right. I understand."

Isabela smirked. "Anything you say, handsome. I'll be the most attentive bathing assistant you could hope for. Are we waiting for Anders?"

"He's just come into the parlor." Fenris offered from the door, voice colored with disdain. "He's fending off the dog."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Warburton likes you. You could give him a hand."

"No."

Zevran was negotiating Hawke's liquor cabinet with the relaxed impertinence of someone so sunny in nature he assumes he will not cause offence. "It has been a long day, yes? Let's leave the fair nameless maiden to awake and start with the drinking."

"Fair nameless maiden?" Varric thumped into the room, arms wide, smile broad. "_This _I have to hear. The wounded Coast was eventful, then."

"We have an unidentified almost-slave." Hawke nodded towards the bed. "She hasn't come around yet."

Varric made a noise of interest, wandering closer to the bed, followed by a frazzled and intent Anders. The mage was in Healer Mode, brow furrowed and lips drawn tight in annoyment. "_Must _we all gather around the bed? If she wakes up now, she'll panic. Take the drinking out to the parlor."

He'd normally be subjected to some good-natured ribbing, but Healer Anders was somewhat more formidable than Apostate Anders, and the wisdom in his words was undeniable. Hawke stood, resigned. "Need anything, Anders?"

"Send Sandal in. He's the only one I can trust not to stand around making smart comments." He thumped to his knees besides the bed, setting aside his staff and putting a gentle hand on the girls head. He looked sideways at Hawke, frowning. _"Out. _I'll come out and let you know when I'm confident there's anything to tell."

Isabela sighed, bored. "You're no fun. I'll go get that bath running." The assembled group got to the feet wearily, heading out to the parlor, greeted by a deliriously happy Mabari warhound and a curious Bodahn. "Master, will the young lady be all right? She was _so _pale!"

Hawke shrugged, slumping wearily into an armchair as his friends found seats beside him and around him. "I don't know, Bodahn. Anders has asked if he could have Sandal for a while to fetch and carry, if you don't mind."

"Course not, Sire. Hear that, Sandal? Be off with you! The mage needs help."

"Enchantment!" Sandal said agreeably, toddling back into the spare room. Zevran, slouched comfortably against the side of the fireplace with a full bottle of brandy, watched him go with some amusement. "Your boy is a very different one, Master dwarf."

Bodahn nodded animatedly. "Oh, yes! Very talented, my Sandal." He looked distractedly back towards the kitchens. "If you don't mind, messeres, I might just check on why dinner is taking so long."

Merrill, crosslegged on the rug, was staring down at the fabric in front of her, and Hawke furrowed his brow at her. "Merrill? What's up?"

"Oh – nothing, I just don't –" She paused, one hand clutching at the rug. "I don't feel – good."

Hawke sighed. "You can borrow my bed, Merrill. Go upstairs and rest."

"Thank you, Hawke. I'll-" She stopped dead, and keeled over, hitting the rug with a thud. Hawke was on his feet in a moment, a touch slower than both Varric and Zevran, who'd been within arms reach. Varric hauled her half upright, dragging her roughly onto his lap. "Daisy? Daisy! Wake up, you daft elf!" He gave her a light slap on the cheek, heavy brow furrowed in concern. Hawke looked back at Bodahn, hovering in concern. "Go tell Anders Merrill collapsed. _Quick. _The slave can wait."

An odd, sinister rattle came from Merrills throat, and Varric jumped, spilling her back onto the rug, where she arched her back, fingers twitching, eyes snapping open. Hawke heard the thud of Anders barreling into the room, as Merrill straightened up and stood, with a kind of weightless grace that she'd never owned. Her eyes burned. Anders froze. "She's possessed." He whispered. "Maker, no."

"Can you _do _anything, Anders?" Fenris had unsheathed his sword and was advancing on her, mouth grim, and Hawke lifted a hand. "No. _Don't. _Perhaps it just wants to talk."

"A wise man, Hawke." The voice was a dry, throaty chuckle, immediately familiar, and everyone went still. "Flemeth." He said, trying his best for conversational. "I hope you're planning on leaving that body again."

"Oh I _am. _Dear boy. Don't you worry." Merrill's sparkling eyes turned to Fenris. "Put the blade away, pretty elf, lest I smite you with it."

Hawke put a restraining hand on Fenris' gauntlet, which he immediately shook off, but he sheathed the blade and backed away a little, eyes dark and angry. Flemeth/Merrill looked back to Hawke. "I've seen something surprising in my visions. Would you like me to tell you?"

"Does it warrant taking possession of my friend?" He said warily.

"Oh, it does. It concerns the future. And Thedas. All very important, obviously. You have a girl with you. A newcomer."

"Yes?"

"She comes from – somewhere else. Not this land, not this world. And yet she must stay. She will bear a child that will decide the fate of these lands."

"Where did she come from?"

"That is hers to tell, if she wishes." Merrill/Flemeth flicked her eyes around the room. "And yet this child must be conceived by a certain person. At a certain _time. _This is extremely important."

"We don't even know her _name. _I'm not going to make her sleep with someone of your choosing."

"Then perhaps it would be wise to put the choice in her lap? With a significant stress on the fact that it _has _to happen, of course." Her brows gathered, the stare became malevolent. "If you cannot convince her, Hawke, then _I will." _

"And who is supposed to father this child?" Hawke asked, feeling belligerent. "_Me_? She seems cute enough, sure, but I don't think she's going to be amendable to the idea, and I am _not _forcing anyone."

"Oh, not you, dear Champion. Interestingly, that's where the vision becomes – indistinct." She looked around the room. "There are three options. The apostate, the slave, the assassin."

"Well that is settled, then." Zevran said brightly. "I can be _very _persuasive. She will be willing."

"How can you be so blasé about this?" Anders asked tightly, his hands clenched on the top of the chair an odd shade of white. "What the witch is suggesting is essentially rape."

"You are not listening, friend." Zevran said pleasantly. "I am _rather _confident in my abilities. She will not be forced."

"And _you _would be a father? _You_?"

"Take your squabbles elsewhere." Merrill/Flemeth said tersely. "I did not say he would be the one."  
>"So – what decides it?"<p>

Merrill/Flemeth gave a smile. "Oh, I don't know. The vision is uncertain. Though if she lies with the wrong one, she will not conceive. So to be practical, I would highly suggest all three."

Varric choked on his drink. Hawke blinked. "But – _what_?"

Flemeth/Merrill rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. "Must I repeat myself? You are not boys. I'm sure you will cope. And I daresay she will survive." She flicked her fingers, irritated. "The circumstances are dire. This must be done. I tire of this inane chatter. I must be elsewhere."

"Wait – you said it had to be conceived at a certain time. When?"

"Tomorrow night." The immense pressure filling the room dissipated, and Merrill crumpled onto the floor with a whimper. Varric immediately gathered her back up, supporting her head, her soft moans of distress the only sound in the suddenly silent room. There was the tread of leather, a clink of gold chains, and Isabela sauntered in, drying her hands. "We're all good to go! Can I get her in the bath, Anders?" She froze, looking around, taking in Merrills fetal ball on Varrics lap and the faces of those around her. "What'd I miss?"

Hawke had slumped with his head in his hands, the ache of the whole situation throbbing in his temples. Merrill was refusing to be comforted and Varric talked to her soothingly, in low tones, away from the others, pressing his hip flask into her hands in an effort to relax her. Fenris had taken off as soon as Flemeth did, and Hawke wasn't looking forward to _that _conversation. Anders was back to concentrating on his patient with the tightlipped intent with someone trying hard not to think. Isabela, typically, was perplexed. "I don't _get _it. You're all acting like something dreadful has happened. It's ridiculous. All she has to do is have sex. That's _all. _No ones going to hurt anyone. No ones going to die. Honestly, the way you carry on you'd think you were a pack of Chantry sisters."

"And what if she isn't willing, Isabela?" Hawke glared at her. "What are we supposed to do? Hold her down?"

Isabela winced. "Look. Cross that bridge when we get to it. Let me tell her."  
>"No. Absolutely not."<p>

"This _may _come to a surprise to you, but there _are _people in the room who have had to have sex before, and consented, but not particularly wanted to. Some discomfort, maybe, but it doesn't have to be the screaming wailing bleeding horror that you're imagining."

Zevran winced. "You have a way with words, duckling."

"I just think you're imagining something that isn't going to come to pass. She might be perfectly reasonable and agree to it. It's not like the three are hideous."

Hawke exhaled, one hand on his head. "You're right. But one day is pretty rough, in order to get to know someone well enough to have a _child _with them."

"The witch said she was from another world. Maybe that world is more practical about matters like this?"

Ander's head appeared around the door. "She's awake."


	2. Fear

She'd burrowed into her blankets, wriggling right back into the furthest corner, eyes huge and blue. Her heart was pounding so hard he could see it throbbing in her neck. Anders wished he had a more comforting, motherly look to him. It might have helped. "It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm a healer." He approached her very carefully, hands up in the universal indication of good intent. "I'm worried that you're in shock. Will you let me look you over?"

He was concerned, for a moment, that she didn't speak the language. She was looking at him with complete horror, only slightly dulled by the sedative he'd rather roughly pushed down her throat. But she blinked, looking at him properly, and Anders had the distinct feeling she recognized him. She closed her eyes for a moment, forcing her breathing to slow. "You – your name is Anders."

Her voice was rusty, sore, and a little deeper and huskier than he'd expected. He stopped at the foot of the bed. "Yes. That is my name." He was startled, before coming to the conclusion she might have heard it from the other room. "I'm going to sit next to you. I'm unarmed, and I won't touch you unless you tell me I can. Will you permit this?"

She was silent an uncomfortably long time, before shifting carefully, painfully, closer to the wall, giving him room to sit next to her hips. He sat slowly, wary of making any sudden movements when she was looking at him like she might faint from fright if he did anything unexpected. He laid his hands on his lap, looking away, giving her the space to look him over properly and hopefully conclude he was inoffensive. "Can I ask your name?"

She paused long enough for him to be sure she wasn't going to tell the truth. "Lily."

"Pretty. Do you remember anything before waking up here?" He looked back at her, and she was looking down at her hands, clenched tight on the blankets. She was tracing the embroidery with one finger. She looked tiny. Anders ached in pity for her.

"I was – somewhere rocky and cold. With a lot of wind, and the sky was getting dark – then men came running down the cliffs and grabbed me. They tied me up." She shuddered noticeably. I bit one of them and he hit me, and I woke up here." She looked up, warily. "How did you find me?"

"Well – I didn't. My friend Hawke did. And some of the people traveling with him."

She went even paler and Anders shifted his weight a little in case she tried to fight free of the bed and run. She swallowed. "You said Hawke."

"You _know_ Hawke?" Anders tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at her. "You've met him before?"  
>"No – I-" She stopped, cupping both hands around her mouth and breathing into them for a moment, regaining her composure. "I – dreamed. About him once. And you. That's why I know your name."<p>

Anders blinked at her, before drily deciding that it might be completely typical that a prophesized woman might appear in his world having been assaulted with nightmares by Flemeth. His immediate _next _thought was why she'd dreamed of him. Did that mean that _he_ -? He pushed the thought away, deeply uncomfortable. He'd managed not to think about that for a whole five minutes. He floundered, trying to think of something reassuring. "Some people have those, you know. Visions of the future. I don't think it's anything to be worried about. I _was _a Grey Warden, I'd have dream visions of darkspawn. I'm _fairly _confident that either I or Hawke are a bit less intimidating. Hopefully." He smiled, cautiously, and she managed a very tremulous smile in return, fleeting but there. She looked away, hunching her shoulders. "I'm sorry. Do you think there's any chance I might have another blanket?"

"I'm a terrible host. Look – let me just look at you quickly to make sure you're alright, we'll get you a bath and set you up a proper bed. With a pile of blankets. And some food. We don't need to talk properly until you've had all that taken care of."

She nodded gratefully, her head obviously spinning with the onslaught of information. "Thank you. I appreciate it." She hesitated, before pushing the blankets back, folding her dirty arms protectively over her middle. Anders took that as an invitation, leaning in to rest his fingers on the pulse at the side of her neck, still hammering. "Does anything hurt?"

"I'm just – sore. I got – pushed around a bit. I fell on rocks. Just bruises, mostly." She shifted her legs, displaying a long and nasty bruise down the exterior side of her thigh. Anders grimaced. "Do you mind if I-?" She nodded once, looking determinedly away as he moved careful fingers across her skin, gently applying some pressure and apologizing when she hissed in pain. A tendril of energy confirmed that nothing was broken, but the bruise was a large and nasty one, and a relatively easy one to help with. "All right. This might tingle a bit." She blinked at him, mystified, as he concentrated down, and out – and his thought was broken by a sharp, terrified scream, as she jerked away from him, bouncing backwards with such force that she cracked her head on the wall behind her and the rafters creaked. Disorientated and afraid, she leapt from the bed, her legs immediately giving way as she dropped to her knees on the rug. Anders backed away, quickly, his head spinning from the broken thread of magic. "Lily! Lily, its okay! Calm down!"

There was a thumping of feet, and the door burst open. Anders turned fast, hoping to the Maker it was someone who wouldn't frighten her. It was Isabela. It could have been worse, he supposed. "Bloody hell, Anders, what are you _doing _up here?"

"I don't think she's seen magic before." He said, looking back at Lily, who'd backed into a corner, trembling like a mouse. Isabela swore in another language and went over to her, dropping to her knees. "It's okay, kitten – Isabela's not going to let anything happen to you – hush, now-" Lily's face crumpled, and she began to cry, and with an impressive lack of concern, the Raviani woman gathered her close, almost bodily hauling her onto her lap, folding her arms around her. "Sssshh – it's just Anders, sweet thing, he's one of the good guys. Oh, come on, it's not that bad – " She flicked her fingers at Anders, jerking her head to the door, and Anders obediently backed out, an incredible headache starting just inside his temples. He needed to talk to Hawke. This wasn't going to be pleasant or easy. For anyone.

Hawke had sent Varric in search of Fenris and had collapsed into one of the armchairs, a sleeping Merrill stretched out in front of the fire by his feet. Anders slumped into the opposite chair, cradling his forehead in one hand. Hawke raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"

"I don't think she's ever seen magic before."

Hawke blinked. "You're joking."

"Maker's name, I'm not. I only tried to pull a bit of the swelling out of a bruise and she completely panicked. Have you ever _heard _of a place that has no mages? _I _haven't."

"If we had I daresay we'd loose our favorite moody elf to it."

"They can _have _him. We could put a bow on him and hand them his leash." Anders pressed both sets of fingers into his eyesockets. "Where is everyone?"

"Haven't seen Aveline as yet. Zevran's taking a _very _unconcerned nap upstairs, Varrics looking for Fenris. And I heard Isabela dash past a moment ago."

"You didn't hear the girl screaming?"

"Who, me? No. I was asleep until a moment ago."

"Well, Isabela's trying to clean up my mess. Did you know she can get maternal at the drop of a hat? I never thought I'd see the day."

Hawke smiled. "She's cradled a lot of dying men in her time."

"I suppose so." Anders ran a preoccupied hand over his hair. "Are we _really _going to do this?"

"Flemeth's prophecy? I don't know." Hawke sighed. "I'm sure she has her own reasons, but I've never known Flemeth to actually _lie_."  
>"I'm going to straight out tell you that I don't think I can do it." Anders said tersely. "She's a patient. And so scared she's like a little child. It would be wrong on so many levels. And I <em>seriously <em>doubt she'd consent. And what then? What happens if she isn't willing and we decide that Flemeth is telling the truth?"

Hawke looked pained. "I'm trying to figure that out, Anders. And _praying _that she will consent."

"But what if she _doesn't_?" Anders snapped. "I am _not _forcing her, not for any damned prophecy. And whilst I have my issues with Zevran, I know he'd feel the same way."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "You rather conspicuously left out Fenris just then."

"He's an animal." Anders said contemptuously. "If you could even convince him to go along with it – which I doubt, Hawke – I wouldn't trust him not to hurt her."

Hawke raised a placating hand. "I'll talk to Fenris."

"And say _what_? Is he so loyal to you that he'd father a _child _at your request?"

"I suspect he would." Hawke said calmly. "But I don't want to talk to you about Fenris. It makes you angry."

"I can't deny that." Anders slumped back into his chair, glowering into the fire. "You know any child I have would probably be a mage."

"Maybe. You don't know you'll be the one to father it."

"I might flatter myself, but I _hope _it'd be me. Can you imagine Fenris as a father? Zevran almost certainly has children scattered about the place already, but –" Anders grimaced. "If I was going to have a child, I'd want to be nearby. I would think I owed them that much. I think I'd even _like _to have children. But like _this_? It's cruel."

Hawke pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "What if she consented?"

"She won't."

"But what if?"

Anders exhaled noisily. "I'd have to be _very _drunk. And have some time to apologize profusely beforehand. And probably afterwards."

"You've never visited the Blooming Rose, Anders? Just treat it like that."

"I have _not, _thank you, and treat the potential mother of my child like a whore?"

"A bad comparison. Forget I said anything."

"I will. Thank you." Anders stood, irritated. "I can't believe you're considering this."

"You're forgetting that Flemeth's going to coerce her into it if _I _don't. And I shudder to think how she'd do that. She could almost certainly pull off a group possession. Think Justice has room for an Old-God witch woman in there?"

Anders went visibly cold. "She wouldn't."

"She could, and she might."

Anders slumped against the back of the chair. "That's a hell of an argument, Hawke."

"I know. And believe me, I've been hoping to keep the Flemeth-will-make-you argument in reserve. Fenris is going to be a nightmare."

The tanned woman with gigantic boobs was almost aggressively friendly, all hands and cuddles and hair stroking. Lily was far from immune to physical comforting, and instinctually responded to the woman out of desperation, fear and sheer panic. She'd been carefully led into an adjoining room, Isabela shadowing her in case she fell – very likely, gauging by the jelly-like quality of her legs – and Isabela had stripped her and nearly physically bundled her into a bath. Submerged in almost painfully hot water, Isabela stretched out next to the ledge, passing her down a bottle of soap. "Now, kitten. You must have questions."

"What are you going to do with me?" Lily was not where she should be – this she knew – but where she _should _be was a mystery. Her surrounds were familiar, somehow, but – Isabela propped up her chin on her hands. "We aren't going to throw you out on the streets, if that's what you mean. It's no rush, love. Don't worry. We'll make sure you're somewhere safe. You're with good people."

"Who's house is this?"

"This is the Hawke Estate. Which I suppose makes me the lady of the house." She smirked. "In a manner of speaking."

"And Hawke's the one who found me."

"Along with Fenris, Zevran and Merrill. I'll introduce you when you're feeling a little closer to human, hmm?" She looked away, distracted. "Bugger it. I can't put you in what you were wearing. Hold up, alright? Don't get out without me. I'm going to go see if I can find you some clothes." She hauled herself upright. "And some liquor. You are going to need some good hard booze in you before too long, I guarantee it."

She headed for the door with a mesmerizing strut, pausing in the doorway. "Don't drown, okay? Stay awake."

She found her a dress, a touch tighter than Lily was used to, a dark green with gold ribbons laced through it. She held onto the bath edge for support as Isabela laced her in. "I know it's a bit over the top, but it'll do until I can shop for you a bit. I tend not to wear dresses, and thus there aren't many around. You'd look nice in a purple. None of this ribbony frilly nonsense. Nice and clean and simple. You know you're very pretty? Look over this way." She twisted her a little to face the mirror, clucking in approval. "Nice. Pity we aren't really taking you anywhere."

Lily looked at herself with some confusion, the bruises on her wrists, the bluey shadows around her eyes. "I look – sick."

"Mmhmm. You're still a bit in shock, I think, love. Lets not judge until you've had some food and a decent weeks sleep, yes?

"That sounds good. Thank you."

"So formal. Maybe once I teach you to swear like a sailor you'll loosen up a bit."

Fenris reemerged without Varric, and Hawke spared a thought for the dwarf, probably still dragging his crossbow around Hightown looking for the elf. Fenris wasn't one for lounging. He stalked in with an alarmingly set jaw and immediately started pacing. Hawke resigned himself to a late evening.

"You know I don't even think I _can _father a child? A lot of other slaves were – fixed. Chemically. And Maker knows what _these _have done." He flicked one gauntleted hand in disgust at the silvery-blue tattoos snaking down his arms. Hawke shrugged. "Then you have nothing to worry about. You spend an evening with a pretty young girl, and nothing bad happens."

"This _isn't funny." _Fenris snarled, turning sharply to face him. "I will _not _be the puppet of witches."

"I don't know if we have much choice."

"Of course _you _can speak of having no choice. _You _aren't the one who'd have to do it."

"She's pretty enough, isn't she?"

"I barely _saw _her. I have no idea. Was she blonde?"

"Yes, Fenris, she was blonde." Hawke scratched his scalp. "And quite adorable, if Isabela is any indication."

"Isabela finds pigs adorable." He said contemptuously. Hawke raised an eyebrow. "I'll ignore the insult in favor of making a point. You heard that Flemeth was going to intervene if you didn't go willingly, yes?"

Fenris froze. "Yes." He said carefully.

Hawke tried to figure out the best way to put it. "You know she might really appreciate the help of someone who knows what it's like to forget most of your past and find yourself having to do – things – that you mightn't be comfortable with."

Fenris swallowed, and Hawke felt bad. There was a few things he could rely on to illicit certain responses from Fenris, and reference to his time as a slave – and Hawke had gathered enough information to know that his services hadn't been limited to bodyguarding, and they hadn't been consensual – was one of them. It was calculating, he knew. But he needed to try and create some kind of connection for him. If he could encourage Fenris to develop some protectiveness, it might be helpful. The elf was staring uncomfortably into the fire, one hand automatically going up to the tattoos on his opposite arm. "She's forgotten her past?"

"Not all of it, I don't think, but she has no idea where she is or where she's come from. And she'd never seen magic before until Anders tried to heal her."

Fenris blinked. "A place with no magic?"

"Thought that might get your attention."

Fenris ran an agitated hand through his hair. "I don't have your skill with words, Hawke. I won't be able to set her at ease, or – any of that. She's a stranger. And I am not a comforting presence."

"I know, Fenris. All I'm asking is for you to let me introduce you to her. Talk to her, try and get a sense for what she's like. It'll make things – easier."


	3. Explanation

Lily woke up slowly, groggy and dazed and smelling like roses. She was covered in blankets to ward off the chill in the room, a large fire in the fireplace crackling happily. The biggest, muscliest dog she'd ever seen lay on the rug, one big black eye on her. It tongue lolled from his mouth, a universal indication of friendliness. All the same, she thought she'd stay in bed, getting her bearings. She could see a sliver of the window, half covered in curtains, and the light outside was cold and bare, but indisputably daylight. She remembered Isabela putting her to bed, extracting her carefully from the one dress she had and leaving her with a tray of food and a promise to return in the morning. She blinked, looking across to the tray where she'd left it on the sidetable. She hadn't even lifted the lids on the food, not making it that far before collapsing into bed. Her stomach hurt from hunger, and she felt horribly guilty for assumedly wasting all that food. She painfully got out of bed, the bruised and battered muscles around her ankles objecting to her weight as she limped across to the table. There was fruit, bread and butter, slices of meat – her stomach churned at the idea, and she looked across at the dog, who was looking hopeful. She buttered the bread and carried the milk and an apple back to the bed, too naked and cold to stay by the table and eat. She'd just resolved to get back up and give the meat to the dog when there was a soft tap at the door and she reflexively hauled her blankets over her, heart thumping. "Who's there?"

"Isabela. Are you covered? I don't mind if you aren't."

She smiled in spite of herself. "I'm covered. You can come in."

Isabela waltzed in, a wrapped bundle under one arm. "Morning, sunshine. I think we'll introduce you to the others today. Might be nice for you to meet your rescuers. What do you say?"

She swallowed. "Um – I should say thank you, I suppose."

"Reluctant, are you? Fair enough. I thought maybe we'd go one at a time. I'll warn you if anyone has any – quirks you should know about." She thought, carefully. "So you'd never seen magic before, when Anders – you know."

Lily shook her head. "I'm sorry. I probably gave him a horrendous fright."

"Moreso the other way around I think." Isabela said wryly. "You should let him come in and look at you, you know. He could do some wonderful things for those bruises." Her lips twitched. "Also I think he's fretting because he's supposed to be healing you and you screamed and ran away from him."

Lily had the grace to feel sheepish. "I – might apologize for that."

"Well, - lets get you dressed, and you can apologize and thank to your hearts content."

"How _many _of them are you?"

"Ooh. Me, Hawke, Anders, Merrill, Fenris, Zevran, Aveline, Varric. Is that all? I think so. Hawkes got a few servants around the place, but in terms of our merry band – eight of us."

"Are you're all – fighters?"

"And mages. Anders and Merrill, anyhow." She tilted her head at Lily. "And what do _you _do? Do you know? You've got no calluses or anything."  
>Lily thought hard, and frustratingly, came up with nothing. "I don't know. I suppose – maybe a scholar of some type? Who can't remember anything." She managed a half laugh, horrified at how bitter it sounded. "I'm going to have to come up with something in order to be halfway helpful."<br>"You don't need to think about that now. Look! I got you some dresses!" She unwrapped the package, pulling out a long purple sheath of silk. "I _know _this is a bit more fancy than just lying around the house, but I saw it and _thought _of you. And you might want to dress up for someone. Maybe. We'll see."

Lily gave her an odd look, before dismissing it as one of Isabela's quirks. The woman set the purple gown aside, producing a more sensible linen gown in cream. "It's very _modest_." She sighed, a bit of disdain in her voice. "But Hawke told me to try and shop like I was shopping for Bethany, and _not _myself." She raised an eyebrow at her. "That's Hawkes sister. Circle mage. Pretty and virtuous as a picture. Very much _not _myself. Come on, let's get you in this before poor Anders frets himself into a state."

Anders was relieved and a bit concerned when Isabela appeared at the top of the stairs and waved him up, getting to his feet and finishing his cider in one gulp for courage.

"He moves fast." Fenris sneered. "Perhaps the mage is looking to get a headstart."

Hawke made a noise of warning, and Anders contented himself with a nasty glare in Fenris' direction back over his shoulder. Zevran, half asleep and sprawled across the lounge, directed one mildly scolding eye at Fenris. "He might forget himself and turn you into a toad, dear Fenris."

"Don't _call _me that."

"Don't call him that, Zev." Hawke said absentmindedly, scratching his hair. "You're _supposed _to be the one who doesn't antagonize anyone."

"Antagonise? Me? It was merely harmless fun. And the elf will recognize it as such when he learns to smile."

Fenris made an odd little growl of annoyance and got up, stalking out of the room. Hawke sighed. "I wish you wouldn't do that."

Zevran shrugged. "He makes it so _easy_."

"Try to think of yourself as the better man."

"I already do."

Hawke gave him a dry look of amusement. "You're taking this awfully well."

"Taking what well?" Hawke gave him a look of incredulity, and Zevran held up his hands in mock defeat. "Oh, I jest. Look, what is the worst that could happen? If she conceives, I spend the night with a beautiful woman and we create what should be a very attractive child. If she doesn't, I have merely spent the night with a beautiful woman." His eyes drifted closed. "So yes, I suppose I am taking it well. Perhaps if I sleep more the night will come sooner."

Hawke made a noise of pain. "It doesn't occur to you that she mightn't _want _to?"

Zevran gave him a rather brilliant smile. "Oh, come, Hawke. I have yet to meet a woman who flat out refuses me. It is part of my legend."

Hawke rolled his eyes up to the roof. "She might prefer women."

"In which case I'm sure your fair lady can distract her whilst I go about doing my duty to the noble land of Thedas."

"Stop. Just – stop."

She looked far better, and Anders was reassured. Isabela had dressed her in something pretty, clean and a little too low cut for his strict comfort, but it was better than what she'd been wearing beforehand. She wasn't looking at him, perched on the edge of a chair by the fire, Warburton curled in a massive sleeping lump by her feet. Who let that damned dog in? Anders cleared his throat softly, and she looked up, wary, but all in all far more comfortable looking than he'd last seen her. Isabela hovered over her shoulder, and Anders was grateful for her presence. Isabela would have made an incredible nurse. She managed to radiate calm and motherly care in a way in complete odds to her usual bosomy, barely-there outfit. Anders crossed the room and stopped a wise distance from the dog. "Lily, wasn't it? How are you feeling?"

She was barely moving, watching him carefully with very large blue eyes. "Far better. Thank you. Sore, but well."

"She has _horrible _bruises on her wrists and ankles." Isabela piped up. "I don't suppose you –"

Anders held up a hand in warning. "I can bandage them with a few things to keep down the swelling, but if I'm not using magic, we'll have to leave them alone to heal."

Lily gave him a shuttered look. "I don't – mind. If you use magic, I mean. You took me by surprise that first time, if I know what to expect, I'll be okay."

"Oh. Well, if you're sure-" He held out a hand, and She folded back her sleeve and offered her bare arm. He winced. It looked _far _worse than it had yesterday. The bruising had really kicked in, overlaid with some nasty rope burn. It was shockingly vibrant on such pale skin. She was incredibly soft under his fingers, silky, even. He closed his eyes, slowing the thread of magic to barely a trickle, hoping not to startle her. She made a little noise of surprise as it flowed into her skin, and he made the thread a little stronger, speeding the process. When he opened her eyes again, the bruises had softened to green and yellow, the rope burn dark pink lines instead of torn skin. "No one can completely heal, but this should take the edge off. I'll bandage it up so you don't knock it."

She extricated her wrist, eyes huge as she rotated it, flexing her fingers and turning her arm to look at it from another angle. "That is – an incredible talent."

He smiled slightly. "Thank you. Can I have your other arm?" She offered it readily, and Anders had an inward sigh of relief. _This was okay. _He could do this. She was past the freaking out point. Although someone was going to have to tell her about the prophecy, and she very well might freak out at that point. And with justifiable reason. Anders was relatively confident that he wasn't a bad looking man, but he was still a stranger to her. A stranger who'd given her an almighty shock and possessed a gift she seemed to have never seen before. He released her wrist, crouching to kneel by her feet. "Did you want me to do your ankles?"

"Oh – _yes_. Please." Her voice was colored with relief, flexing her fingers and tentatively curling them into fists. She offered a foot, and he took it onto his lap, blinking in surprise at the lacquered toenails. They were a bright, luminescent, acid yellow. He'd never seen something like that before, they were like little opalescent sea shells. He was still for a moment, and she shifted her weight, looking down at him. "Oh. My nails."

"They're beautiful." He said, surprised. "Is that – common? Where you're from?"

"I think so. I'll have to get used to them. They require a very nasty substance to get that paint off again." Her voice caught a little, and he looked up in concern. She was looking into the fire. "I can remember about nail polish, for gods sake, but I don't know my family name or where I come from."

"We've got time." He offered softly. "It will probably come back in pieces."

She raised a hand to her head, looking pained. "I'm a burden. I have nothing to offer you for your help."

"I'm a healer. I don't want anything from you." A momentary guilt hit him in the stomach. _You'll be repaying the whole of Thedas, soon enough. _He winced, and she looked oddly at him. He cleared his throat, and folded a hand around her ankle. They were worse than her wrists, puffy and unhealthy looking, and she made a small soft noise of pain. Gauging her a little more comfortable with the process now, the thread of magic was thicker and more powerful. She looked slightly dazed as he let her go. "That was – my ears are ringing."

"Sorry. I can do it slower, which will stop that. "

"No – it's fine. Small price to pay." She grimaced a little in preparation as he reached for her other foot, and he lightened the thread of magic a little, and was rewarded with a shy smile as he opened his eyes and looked back up at her. Maker, she was pretty. Like a spun sugar angel on a cake. If it weren't for the soft shadowing of bruising on the side of her face, and the shadowy, hunted set around her eyes. "Is there any other bruises you'd like me to look after?"

"Maybe just the big one?" She gathered the fabric of the skirt in one hand, then paused, unsure. Anders made an educated guess. "I can do it through fabric. It was just – here, wasn't it?" He touched the side of her thigh, and she winced. "Yes. Just there."

"It's a big one. It might take a little longer. Don't be alarmed if you feel like your hearts starting to beat faster. It'll be working to repair the damaged veins." He tightened his grip on her leg, realizing suddenly that Isabela had slipped from the room. She didn't _really _think they needed privacy, did she? He pushed that thought away, concentrating on the infinitely complex mass of swelling and bruising under his hands. When he released her, she was sagging a bit, eyes closed. "That feels – awful."

"I know." He said sympathetically. "It will pass. You might want to stick to water and fruit for a little while until your stomach settles."

To his infinite surprise, she touched his shoulder. "Thank you. I appreciate this. Let me know if there's anything I can do for you." She stopped, brow furrowing, an expression of dry amusement on her face. "Though I can't right now think of _anything. _I'm completely useless. I need to learn how to do – things. In this place, I mean."

She was babbling a bit, probably still a bit scrambled form the healing. He patted her hand and shifted it back off him, standing. "I don't want to intrude, but I do need to know. Since I'm looking after your healing. Did those men – touch you? At all?"

"Did they rape me?" She asked bluntly. "No. Well, I don't really know, but I assume I'd know if they had."

"Ah – yes. You probably would." That was a monumental relief. He'd feared that she might have been raped, which would make the oncoming evening _far _more difficult. "That's a relief."

"It certainly is." She gave him a very slight smile, a slight twist of her lips. "More so for me than you, I would guess."

There was the sound of footsteps outside, and before Anders could respond, the door opened and Isabela's head craned around the corner. "Don't suppose you feel up to a visitor? I'll be holding his leash, I promise."

Anders froze, recalling his earlier conversation with Hawke, and for a horrible moment thought she was about to let Fenris in. He slumped with relief when Hawke came in, heavily armored and looking extremely impressive. Lily folded her arms over her stomach, and Anders recognized it as a gesture of discomfort, vulnerability. And fair enough, the healer wished Hawke had thought to disarm before coming in.

"Lily, was it? My name is Hawke. I'm glad you've come to us relatively unhurt."

She shrunk back a little as he advanced on her, and shook his gauntleted hand with clear hesitation. "Um – thank you. For saving me, I mean."

He shrugged, unconcerned. "It was nothing. I have companions who are very happy to lay waste to a bunch of slavers. You provided us with an excuse."

"I - don't have anything to repay you with."

"Don't think about that now. I'm not expecting anything from you. If you stay with us for a while, we'll start looking into where you might like to be. I always have use for people in the city."

"I can't fight." She said, her voice small. "And I suspect what I _used _to do is no use to me here. I have, _very _literally, nothing to offer."

"Rubbish." Isabela said crisply. "It's a matter of finding it. _Later. _Right now you need to concentrate on getting better."

"There's nothing wrong with me. I'm just – bruised and a bit stunned."

She was completely right, of course. Hawke and Isabela exchanged glances. "We'd like you to meet the others. I wonder if you've – seen elves. Before. Or dwarves."

She stared back at him for a moment, pink lips parted in miscomprehension. "Elves?" She recovered impressively fast. "Ah, no. No I haven't. I don't think. Thank you for warning me."

"Did you want to come downstairs or – maybe one at a time?"

"I'll come down. I'm not going to make everyone tramp upstairs to see me. I'm not _that _interesting."

Anders offered a hand to help her up, and she gave him a smile of thanks. Something tweaked in his stomach, and he hoped to the Maker that he wasn't going to get infatuated with the girl. That tended to happen to him. And with _this _one it might be an issue. And uncomfortable for more than just him and her.

The stairs led around a corner before they met the landing of the lounge room, making the reveal of the rest of the group most likely nastily sudden. She stopped dead in the doorway, her hand on Anders' arm tightening. In a burst of clarity, Anders saw them as if for the first time – Aveline, in her full Captain of the Guard armor, jaw set, eying the newcomer with some caution; Varric with a full mug of ale, regardless of the time of day, his crossbow set across his lap, that obscene amount of chest hair horribly eyecatching; Merrill, awake but still drawn and unwell, big haunted eyes, her tattoos and dark eyes making her look wraith-like. Zevran, obscenely handsome and offensively self assured, arms folded, leaning on the mantelpiece. Fenris, a way back from the group, the black gleam of his armor in the firelight, his silver eyes malevolent and deeply discomforted. He looked across and made eye contact with Anders – and for a moment, for the first time ever, the two had a moment of mutual understanding. Understanding tinged with faint horror, but understanding all the same. Then Fenris' lip curled into a sneer and he looked away, and the moment was gone. Hawke cleared his throat. "I'd like everyone to meet Lily. She'll be staying with us until she regains some of her memories."

She dipped her head, gracefully, in a universal symbol of respect. "I'd like to thank you all for your help."

Surprisingly, it was Merrill who spoke. "Oh, it was nothing." Her soft voice was a little cracked, and Anders felt for her. He knew what it was like to be animated like a puppet by a great power – he wouldn't have wished it on anyone. The slender elf had taken a tentative step towards her, her hands twisted together in front of her. "Most folk would have come to your aid."

Varric made a loud noise of amusement. "You, daisy, are naïve. We _are _talking about Kirkwall, right? We're all very lucky that the young lady chose that day and time to get picked up by slavers." He gave Lily a casual nod of acknowledgement. "I'm Varric. The scattered elf is Merrill."

Merrill's hands flew up to her mouth. "Oh, I didn't introduce myself, did I? Oooh, stupid, stupid." She ducked her head, her cheeks coloring. "I didn't mean any offense."

Lily blinked, eyes huge. "None taken. You have my gratitude." She looked past her, openly staring around the room. "Can I ask – who was there?"

Hawke nodded towards Zevran. "Our Antivan friend there, Merrill. Fenris." Hawke shot Fenris a warning look, and the elf stepped out of the shadows and into the full light of the room. Lily gasped. It was a horribly loud sound in the quiet room. Her grip on Anders was painful. She openly fought to get herself back under control. "I – Thank you. For your help."

His mouth was a thin line, bristling with antagonism. He gave her a curt nod, then turned and left. She immediately looked sideways at Anders, eyes full of hurt and confusion. He winced. "That's – just Fenris. It isn't personal."

"I, however, can be extremely personal." Zevran chose that moment to attempt to dispel the sudden discomfort in the room, crossing the floor with a dazzling smile. "My name is Zevran Arainai, companion of our friend Hawke and Antivan Crow." He held out a hand to her, and she extracted herself from Anders, letting him take her hand and lift it to her lips. Anders noticed with a small note of smugness that she was extremely wary of the Antivan. "And I am _thrilled _to have played a part in rescuing such a beautiful young woman such as yourself."

She blinked at him, momentarily speechless. "Um. Thank you?"

"No thanks. To look upon a face such as yours is a rich reward indeed."

Her brow creased, perplexed and a bit unsure. Hawke chose that moment to intercede. "Okay, Zevran, you've made your point, let's give the girl some space." Zevran reluctantly released her hand, and she immediately clutched at Anders' arm again, anchoring herself. She was looking pale. Perhaps they should wrap this up. Anders cleared his throat. "And this is Aveline, Captain of the Guard of Kirkwall. She came over with Hawke when he came as a refugee."

Aveline raised one ginger eyebrow. "I _can_ speak for myself, Anders, thank you." She straightened up with a clank of armor. "When you're feeling stronger, Messere, I'd like to talk to you about those slavers. That coastline is my responsibility, and I need to know some information about their operation."

Blunt and typically straight to the point. Anders hid a wince as the girl blinked at the Captain. "I don't know how much help I'll be. Maybe when I remember a bit more."

Aveline gave her a stony, wary look. "Perhaps. I will check back with you in the future." She gave Hawke a formal nod. "Hawke. I'd best get back to my men."

Hawke nodded back. "I'll see you tomorrow, Aveline. Did you still need help with the slaver ring in Hightown?"

"I do. We'd best get that set up soon." She acknowledged the rest of the group with a half wave, turning and leaving, her metallic tread echoing as she moved out to the parlor. Hawke gave Lily an apologetic look. "When she's not on duty she's far friendlier."

Isabela took Lily's other arm. "Look. Why don't we all have a drink and get to know each other?"

Hawke raised an eyebrow at his partner. "It's mid morning."

"Something _light, _then. Cider?"

Anders gave Isabela a look. "She's healing, Isabela."

"And she'll heal far faster with something to loosen her up. Come here, love. It's too cold to be so far away from the fire." She extracted Lily from Anders, pulling her into the circle of light, and Merrill shifted off the lounge to give her room. Lily objected. "No one needs to _move _for me, I'm perfectly happy to-"

"Shush, now." Isabela commanded. "We're all able-bodied. We can shift around a little. Come over here, Anders, keep her company."

He winced, and tried to cover it when Merrill visibly hesitated, then looked to Zevran, who gave her a discreet nod and sauntered over to Lily's other side. Anders was momentarily gratified when she shifted a little closer to him in response to the look Zevran gave her. Smart girl. Varric was up and shifting around glasses, considering a normal stein sized mug and setting it back on the shelf with a sigh when Anders gave him a look. The glass of cider he brought back to Lily was far daintier. She accepted it gingerly, eyes locked on Varric. He noticed, and seemed unperturbed. "Haven't seen a dwarf then, huh?"

She immediately blushed. It was charming. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to stare."

"Oh, never mind that. I'm gratified that your first dwarf is such a fine specimen." He thumped back down in his chair. "I'm open to questions, if you're feeling curious."

It was a rather neat way to sidestep the fact that she couldn't talk to them about her past. Anders felt a twinge of surprise and respect for the dwarf. Lily drew lines in the perspiration on the glass, eyes down. "Do – dwarves usually have beards?"

Zevran laughed, and Varric sighed. "Oh, they do, sweetness. And I could have one, if I really wanted, but – I don't." He folded his hands across his belly. "I'm what we call a surface dwarf. Most of my kin live underground in vast cities their whole lives. I was born above ground and chose to stay that way."

She nodded, slowly, visibly fascinated. "You're whole families up here?"

"They are. They move around, but I see them occasionally. They're merchants. I'm more inclined to stay in one place." He drank deeply from his glass of rum. "I'm right in thinking then that you haven't seen elves before either?"

She shook her head, and Zevran made a noise of delight. "But this is wonderful! You have no prejudices to work with. Let me start off by letting you know that we are an infinitely beautiful and mysterious race."

"Not _that _mysterious." Merrill said, straight-faced from the rug in front of the fireplace. "And not always that pretty, either."

Zevran put a hand to his chest in faux-devastation. "You wound me, Merrill. We can't all be as shrouded in mysticism as the Dalish." He turned back to Lily, gesturing to Merrill. "The Dalish are nomadic elves. Myself and our sour friend Fenris are city dwellers. I am an assassin. Fenris spent his formative years as a slave."

"You have _slaves_?" She said, horrified, and he rushed to correct himself.

"No no no. Not here. But there is a land called the Tevinter Imperium, which is built on the backs of slaves. Their slavers roam the whole land of Thedas. It was they who had you in their clutches when we rescued you." He inspected his nails, smugly self satisfied. "I imagine you would have fetched a good price, a lovely thing such as yourself."

She was visibly torn between the compliment and the uncomfortable notion of being a slave. "Ah – thank you?" She bit her lip, and Zevran very openly stared at her mouth. "You said you were an assassin."

He nodded, half-lidded and obscenely relaxed. "I am, dear thing. It is a lifestyle choice and an art form."

"Why?"

"_Why _am I an assassin? Because I am extremely good at it. As most of these fine people will vouch." He touched her arm, brushing his fingers over her wrist. "But _never _you, my beauty. Rest assured."

"That's – good to know." She didn't pull away from him, but Anders felt her tense up. She looked back down to her glass. "This is lovely."

"Thank you." Varric said smugly. "I indulge in some home brewing from time to time."

Anders touched her shoulder to get her attention. "You might want to take that slowly." Merrill giggled. "I don't blame her for starting early. I'd want to be _very _drunk before tonight." She blinked when everyone turned and stared at her. "What?"

Lily picked up the sudden soaring of tension on the room and froze. "What are you talking about?"

Hawke intervened, fast. "Merrill. That isn't a discussion for now."

"You haven't – oh. _Oh."_ Merrill paled. "Oh I'm so sorry!"

Lily's knuckles on her glass had gone pale. "Will someone tell me what you're talking about?" Her voice caught, and Anders took the glass off her.

"It's okay, Lily. This was just something we would have rather talked to you about later, that's all."

Merrill, looking at Lily's sudden fear and confusion, promptly burst into tears and fled the room. Varric flicked a look between Isabela and Hawke, and got up without comment to follow Merrill out. Lily went white, and went to stand. Hawke held out a hand, stalling her. "Lily. I'll explain. But firstly I need you to calm down. You're safe, and in no imminent danger. We aren't going to let anything happen to you."

She settled back into the chair, eyes huge. "What's going on?"

Hawke looked around the room, assessing the gathered group. "Isabela. Maybe you and I should talk to Lily alone."

"Just _tell_ me." She snapped, finally at the end of her fuse. "_Please." _

Hawke nodded, once, and Anders, cringing, delicately tried to shift away from her without her noticing. She reached out one hand and gripped his wrist, immobilizing him. Hawke cleared his throat. "When you were still unconscious, we were visited by a witch. One I've met before."

"Flemeth." She said immediately. Hawke blinked. "You know Flemeth?"

"I've dreamed about her." She swallowed, and the grimace told them all that they weren't pleasant dreams. "She scares me."

"She should." Hawke said, soberly. "But she's ultimately a neutral force. Sometimes she has her own motives, but when she warns us of something or offers advice, we listen. And she – came to us. Using Merrill's body. She told us that she'd had a vision of a role you were meant to play in this land."

Lily looked skeptical. "We've already established that I'm useless. I hope she's going to give me time to learn something."

Hawke winced. "I don't think that'll be necessary. She believes that you will conceive a child that will have importance in the future."

She froze, and the silence was long and tense. "I suppose that means I'm not going back to – wherever I came from." She said, her voice thin and strained. "That will probably mean more to me when I remember more." She closed her eyes for a moment, her voice shaky. "Thank you. It's good to know I can start trying to make, um, longer term plans. I assumed I'd have children later, anyhow." She reached out for her drink, extracting it from Anders and exhaling hard. "It – could have been worse."

Hawke scratched a hand through his hair, looking harried. "She was – a bit more specific."

"How do you mean?"

"She specified a night of conception. And a father."

She went still. "I'm – hoping that she's specified a night several years from now."

"She said tonight." Hawke laced his fingers together, looking awkwardly away. "I'm sorry, Lily. This is a bit of a shock for all of us."

Anders had a moment of bravery and turned to look at her. She looked – sick. "Do I have a choice in this?"

Hawke and Isabela looked at each other, and Isabela cleared her throat. "No one's going to force you. But we, um, are fairly certain the witch might intervene if you don't. That's what we're afraid of."

Lily drained the rest of her drink with shaky determination. "So in order to satisfy a witches vision, I have to have sex with someone tonight. And have a baby with them."

Isabela nodded, then paused, looking to Hawke uneasily. "Well, yes. We think."

Lily raised a hand to her forehead. "Okay. So who am I supposed to be having a child with?"

"It could be one of three. Anders, Zevran –"

She made a little noise of consternation. "Wait – I'd never even _seen _an elf before today, and I'm supposed to _sleep_ with one?"

"With two, actually." Zevran offered. And I'm sitting _right _here, princess."

"Then who's the other -?" She went pale. "Fenris? The one who stormed out?"

Hawke made a noise of pain. "Yes. Fenris is the third."

She went silent, and the look on her face made Anders ache with pity. "He couldn't even _talk _to me! How on earth am I supposed to –" She stopped. "How am I supposed to choose?"

Isabela tried to smile. It looked a touch painful. "Um. You don't. She told us you'd have to take the three of them and the one you're supposed to conceive with will be, um, successful."

The silence stretched. Lily took a deep shuddering breath in, then stood, carefully, looking unsteady. Anders went to steady her then thought better of it. "I think," she said quietly, "I'm going to go back up to my room for a while."

"I will accompany you." Zevran said immediately. "You don't look-"

"_Alone._" She said tersely. "Thank you." She left the lounge room, clutching the banister for dear life as she negotiated the stairs. Isabela slumped against Hawke, and Zevran and Anders exchanged a look. Hawke cradled his head in his hands. "I suddenly don't feel so bad about drinking in the middle of the morning." He said, exhausted.

Anders had a headache coming. "I am going to _kill _Merrill." He said, depressed. "I'm supposed to be healing the girl. She's probably going to crack me over the head with a vase if I try to touch her, now."

Zevran sighed. "It is not a lost cause. She has a lot to think about. I think she took that _extremely _well."

"You do?"

"Oh yes. Another woman would have screamed, or fainted, or tried to run away." He paused, and then his brow furrowed. "Ah – Hawke?"

Hawke swore and turned, breaking into a run as he hit the staircase.


	4. Rescue  again

Fenris sat in the welcome gloom of his borrowed mansion, with his eyes closed, trying to still the frantic thumping of his heart with a half full bottle of wine and the comforting silence. He'd gained some kind of clarity from getting away from the others – he always did. They clamored in on him, with their drinking and laughing and aggressive friendliness. He preferred to be on his own. And now, on his own, he'd managed to calm a little and try and think. He traced the glowing blue lines across one palm, jaw set. She was little. And looked something like a milkmaid, all curves and blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes. And she'd been _afraid_. Of him. She'd walked down the stairs on the arm of that damned mage, and she'd been afraid of _him._ Hawke had said she'd come from a land with no mages – she hadn't been warned, obviously. And gauging her reaction to him, he could assume elves had also not featured in her world. He closed his eyes, letting his head hang down onto his ribs, breathing deeply. Could he do this? Even if Hawke gauged it as being important, could he go through with it? He tried to remember the last time he'd been intimate with a woman. As always it was somewhere in the gaping void of blackness that was his recollections before the markings. He knew he had – at _some _point – but details eluded him. He'd even been unsure, upon his arrival, if he preferred women. It had taken a long time to shake off the shadows of his slavery on that front. His masters had had some interesting ways of entertaining themselves, and he, subservient and docile, had had some equally interesting ways of coping with it. It had been a great freedom and relief for him when his initial infatuation with Hawke had worn off and he put his relationships with men – if they could be called that – firmly in his past, a side effect of his imprisonment, nothing more. She was appealingly vulnerable, and it galled him that that called to him. He'd felt her fear, her innocence, and yearned to control it, master it. He was revolted and ashamed at himself – was he a man like his former masters? Could he ever be free of their influence? Closed in a room with her, would he handle her gently or throw her to the floor? He didn't know, and that scared him. The thump and tread of boots in the hall shocked him, and he was on his feet in a second, longsword in one hand, poised to leap at the door. It was the low rumble of greeting, a moment before he saw his visitor, and he recognized it. "You yell from the landing before you come upstairs." He snapped at Varric, slouching comfortably in the doorframe. "You could get yourself killed."

"Your catlike reflexes are a bit dull, my friend. I'm hardly tiptoeing. And _you _have been drinking. Is that wise? Don't you have a baby to make?"

Fenris propped the bottle up on the mantelpiece. "I hope you have a reason for coming."

"The company, obviously. No, Hawkes called you to the house. The girl has taken off."

"She – what?"

"Hawke told her. She bolted. She's somewhere in the Amell cellars complex or else in Darktown. Either option is – bad."

Fenris froze. "They're _both _overrun with slavers."

"That they are. So less talking, maybe? You and I are heading to Darktown and working out way back to the cellars. We're all out looking." Varric turned to head back out to the landing. "Hope you're in a slaver-slaying mood."

"Don't call her that."

"What?"

""The Girl". It disturbs me."

"Ha. Fair enough."

Anders found himself in the unlikely but ultimately pleasant company of Zevran as they combed the cellars far below the Hawke estate. Anders' opinion on the assassin varied wildly, but sometimes his disposition was so sunny it was difficult to authentically dislike him. And right now, as Ander's nerves were on edge, it helped to be in the company of someone so completely unconcerned. "It is fate, friend." He said, shrugging, eyes on the floor in front of them. "Fate has determined she is important, thus nothing permanent will happen to her. My concern is that something un-permanent but healable may happen to her, which is why I'm not simply waiting around for her to fall into my lap."

Anders winced. "I'm not convinced she'd let me near her if she got hurt, is my concern."

Zevran gave him an uncharacteristic thump on the back. "Ah, but you are not observant, mage. You are the only one she didn't object over."

"Oh. That didn't occur to me."

"I didn't think so."

"To be fair, I don't think she was upset about _you_, just that she'd never even met elves before."

"You needn't console me, friend. I am completely unconcerned." Zevran held up a hand, and they both went still. Zevran tensed, his trademark relaxed swagger firming into a pose of readiness. "Four to the left." He said, very softly. "Three to the right. Fire trap in the middle, hear the ticking?" Zevran's eyes darted, evaluating the landing ahead of them. "Can you handle the four?"

Anders nodded, shifting his staff into his hand. "It'll be lightning. Avoid them."

"You needn't tell me, friend. Try not to fry me, if you could."

Anders found Zevran fighting a somewhat distracting experience, mostly because it was so effortlessly acrobatic and _fast. _Frying someone with a lightning bolt was a fairly quick way to dispatch an enemy, but Zevran had still managed to finish off the three and disarm the floor-release on the fire trap whilst he was still clearing up the rest of them. He prodded a smoking corpse with his foot as Zevran resheathed his blades and wandered over. "Slavers, unsurprisingly."

"Check for keys." Zevran said, dropping to one knee. "I'll imagine if they have our princess she'll be locked away." He snapped his hand back, hissing an Antivan curse. "_Braska, _mage, you might have warned me their armor would be _hot._"

"I set him on fire, what do you expect?"

Fenris was agitated, and Varric was fast losing his patience. "Dammit, elf, we've _been _down there. I really don't think she's here. We should head back to the cellars."

Fenris was scanning the lower levels of Darktown below them, eyes narrowed. "Who would _choose _to stay in the cellars?"

"Someone who's avoiding the general populace?" Varric made a noise of disgust, looking away and blinking at the ragged elf girl who'd crept up beside him. She flinched as he turned to face her. "Was you the gentlemen lookin for the lady in the white dress?"

"Was she blonde? Bare feet?"

The girl nodded furiously, and her face creased, lip trembling. "She – the slavers was after me, and she ran at them to distract them. They hit her and took her into the cellars." She sniffed. "I'd be a slave if she hadn't appeared. Why did she _do _that?"

"Maker knows, lass." Varric dug around in his belt, and handed her a few silvers. "Go get something to eat. Thanks for your help." He turned to Fenris, who'd already turned away, heading at a loping run for the cellars. Varric hurried to catch up, cursing elves and their blasted long legs.

Anders and Zevran had managed to follow the odd groups of slavers down another level and into a compound of a few dozen men. They crouched at the overhang, quietly assessing what it would take to bring down that many. The girl wasn't in sight, but gauging by Zevran – who's hearing was far better – they were discussing something important, and Anders was fleetingly glad he couldn't hear as Zevran's face twisted in distaste. "Animals." He murmured, disdain in his voice. "We'd do best to get rid of all these fools before they drag her out into the middle. Do you have anything in your bag of tricks that could immobilize the majority?"

Anders nodded thoughtfully. "You'd have about ten seconds. How many could you take out?"

"Fully immobilized, you say? Oh, seven? Ten? Maybe-" He stopped, eyes travelling across the enclosure. "I saw something. On the other side. See those barrels?"

Anders squinted. There was a flash of iron, some gold scrolling – _oh. _That was Bianca. Varric's crossbow preceded him somewhat due to sheer size. Closer inspection revealed a flash of silver hair to his right. Zevran nodded in approval. "Good. Four of us will make this much faster." He shifted his weight a little, carefully sitting a little taller, and was rewarded with a half wave from Varric. Zevran held up five fingers, pointing at Fenris, then four, pointing at Varric, and Varric nodded, pointing at Anders and making an odd, exploding gesture. Anders looked across at Zevran, perplexed. "What is he saying?"

"You're going to do that sparkly immobilizing thingy. Then Varric is going to take the four archers, Fenris is going for the group of five in the centre, and I'm cleaning up around the perimeter. Once we're in there, your spells need to be directional so you don't cook anyone. Yes?"

"You got all that just then?"

"Oh yes. We are concise but very detailed." Zevran waved back at Varric, who held up a gloved hand, silently counting down from five. The hand suddenly clenched at three, freezing the action, as four additional slavers entered, dragging the heavily chained Lily between them. Ander's swallowed. She had a bruise the size of an egg on her forehead, and her movements were sluggish and disjointed. Concussion, probably. She was limp and unresisting as they dropped her with a heavy metallic thud onto the ground in the centre. There was a cheer from the slavers, and some laughter as one shoved her, hard with the steel tipped toe of his boot and she fell over onto her side. Zevran hissed, and Anders' head jerked up in time to see Fenris dropping from the upper level, sword unsheathed, a disturbing snarl on his face. "_Braska. _Never mind the plan. Move!"

There was far too many of them. Anders knew, in an abstract way, that they'd taken down more than that before, but it was hard to be sure of that with Varric's bolts whizzing past his ears and Fenris disappearing momentarily under a pile of bodies only to emerge, violently, drenched in blood and shaking off dismembered limbs. Anders was momentarily distracted by Varric's yell of pain, as Bianca dropped to the ground and he clamped one hand over his bleeding arm, and Anders ran to him, cracking his attacker across the back of his head with his staff and felling his with a sharp bolt of flame. Varric shook him off, annoyed. "Not _now, _mage. Bail out the elf."

"The elf" usually meant Fenris. For some reason, Zevran's elfi-ness was questionable. Anders flicked bloodied hair off his face and looked around, finding Fenris backing away, cornered by eight men, narrow eyes darting from one to the other. Anders sighed and lifted the staff, blasting two of them out of the way as Zevran came bolting in to dispatch a third. Distracted and suddenly outflanked, the remaining five went down fast to the two fighters, too close to the slavers for Anders to be able to safely use his magic. The silence was sudden, and thick, punctuated by Varrics annoyed growls of pain and the panting of the others. Anders dropped to his knees besides Lily. "She's unconscious."

"Does that a lot, doesn't she?" Zevran eyed the bodies. "One of these should have a key for those chains."

They searched the bodies, endlessly, until Anders gave up and went back to Varric to fix up his arm. Zevran sighed. "Fine, then. I'll have to pick the lock. I don't like my chances, but – " he went back to her side, tracing the chains until he found the cross lock, and set about tracing its lines, weighing it in his hands with a look of professional concentration on his face. Varric unwillingly rolled up his sleeve. "Have I mentioned that you're like a nagging housewife when someone gets a cut?"

"That's _not _a cut. Stop complaining." He'd healed Varric before, the dwarf knew what to expect. Unfortunately since dwarves had an inbuilt resistance to magic, Anders had to work _very _hard to get through his skin, and only managed to lighten it to a shallow, bleeding cut instead of the sealed scar he could usually manage. Varric pulled his sleeve down, unconcerned. "Cheers. I'll buy you a drink later."

Anders was woozy from the effort, and closed his eyes for a moment. "Not too soon, thanks."

Zevran shook his head. "I can't pick these. Isabela might be able to. We'll have to take her back to the house like this." He gathered her up, wincing at the weight. "Did they _have _to pile this much chain on her? Anyone would think they'd captured a Crow and not a girl in a pretty dress."


	5. Nightfall

Isabela did manage to unpick the lock. "Zevran, you and I need to spend some quality time with some practice locks." She told him with mock severity. "This is inexcusable."

"I am far less of a professional thief and more of an assassin, fine lady." He sighed. "We all have our weaknesses."

Anders looked her over carefully and took advantage of her unconsciousness to soften down the swelling on her head, pressing her ribs carefully to assess the damage. There was a noise of discontent from Fenris and Anders clenched his jaw in annoyance. "Can you _all _leave? Please? I'm going to have to wake her up if she's concussed, and I don't need the room packed with people."

"I'm going to stay." Isabela said firmly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "She's going to need a lady near by. Trust me."

Zevran nodded, standing. "We'll be in the parlor. You _may _have to spend some time with Fenris' foot."

"My foot is fine." Fenris snapped. Anders had noticed him limping, and was resigning himself to the spiky conversation that would inevitably follow. "I'll come check on you when I'm done here."

Lily was bruised, but unharmed. He didn't inspect her too closely, squeamish at the thought of her waking, but from what he could see nothing was broken. "I'm going to wake her up. Then probably back out quickly and leave her with you. Okay?"

Isabela nodded. "Keep her awake, right?"

"Right. She's probably going to want a bath. I don't blame her." He touched her head, momentarily startled at the silky softness of her hair. He reached out, the tingle moving down his fingertips and settling into her skull, moving around inside, fizzing and exploring. He found the nerve he was looking for, dormant, and he tweaked it, her brain whirring into motion as he backed out, her eyes snapping open. She flinched away form him, immediately, and he let her go. "You're back at the estate, Lily. I'm going to leave you with Isabela." He backed away from her, horribly conscious of her fixed stare, her fingers knotted into the blankets underneath her. Isabela cooed something nonsensical, shifting to her side and distracting her, as Anders gratefully closed the door behind him and moved back to the parlor.

Zevran was back at the liquor cabinet, and offered Anders a glass of rum. "I'd highly suggest you drink that. We're all going to want to be _slightly _drunk before nightfall."

Anders took the glass gingerly, still feeling delicate. Unwillingly, he turned to Fenris. He was sitting, which he generally didn't do, too ill at ease to rest in one place for long. The foot in question had a nasty gash up its side, onto the ankle, and Anders didn't bother asking permission, thumping himself down on the floor and reaching for his foot. Fenris recoiled, snarling. "Don't _touch _me."

Ander folded his arms, feeling belligerent. "You know what kind of filth is down in those cellars? It's going to get infected if you leave it."

"Let him heal you, Fenris." Zevran said, a note of warning in his voice, advancing on him with an offered glass of rum. Fenris glared at him. "This isn't your concern, Antivan."

"You are wrong, friend." He said firmly." Because when it's _my _hide that will suffer if you're slowed by your injury, it makes it my concern." He narrowed his eyes at Fenris, his voice dropping into its rarely heard lower register. "Will someone have to die for your stubbornness, friend?"

Fenris and Zevran glared at each other, and Anders took the opportunity to gulp his rum deeply. It was Fenris who looked away. "Fine." He said tersely.

Zevran set the offered glass on the table next to Fenris. "Wise." He turned back to the fire. Anders touched Fenris's foot, and very nearly dropped it as his magic encountered the pulse of lyrium pouring from his skin. He blinked. Fenris narrowed his eyes at him. "What?"

"Your markings. They radiate magic. It's like trying to walk into a strong wind." He shook his head to clear it. "Your old masters were mages."

"What of it?"  
>"Did they ever – tap into that?" Fenris' brows gathered in belligerent confusion. Anders tried to think in terms a non magic user might understand. "You've got a gigantic well of magical energy beaming out of your skin. Did they ever do anything that made you feel drained? Exhausted?"<p>

Fenris made a hostile noise at the back of his throat. "Does this mean you can't heal it?"  
>"I can, yes, but –"<p>

"Then do it."

Anders took a moment to push down his responsive irritation and closed his eyes, preparing himself for the roaring onslaught of magic assailing his senses. The wound pulsed a dark, sickly red in his magesight, and he had to burn away the fragments of infection there before stimulating the skin and sealing off the bloody mess. He opened his eyes and blinked in surprise – there was no mark, just a mass of blood dried on completely unbroken skin. There was a silence as the two men looked down at the foot in question. When Fenris spoke it was wary. "I've seen you heal the others. You usually don't seal it completely."

"I usually _can't." _He scratched his head. "I think your markings must be a conduit. They amplify my magic, I mean. That's handy to know." He turned to Zevran, whose eyes were drooping half closed in the warmth and heat of the fire. "Are you all right? Anything you need me to look at?"

The assassin gave Anders a half smile. "I may have pulled something in my groin. You could have a look at that, if you'd like."

Anders snorted with laughter, caught unawares. "You know what? No. I think I'll leave that to heal on its own."

Zevran heaved a sigh. "One day, handsome mage, you will awaken with the tiniest shred of curiosity, and on that day –"

"Yes, yes. You'll be the first person I let know."

"Aha. Progress."

Fenris was hesitantly flexing his foot. "My thanks, mage."

Anders gave him a nod, knowing that an over-response would send the elf back into snarling antagonism. "It's going to ache a bit. Should be back to normal in a day or so."

Fenris stood, gingerly shifting his weight. "I need to go wash this blood off. And spend a good deal of time with my armor." He was quite literally coated in blood, his lyrium tattoos pulsing through a sticky layer of brown. Zevran held up a hand to stall him. "A question, if I may. For both of you. Regarding tonight."

Anders raised an eyebrow. "I think I'm about to regret this. What?"

Zevran laced his fingers together looking up at the roof. "Have either of you considered the logistics? Of the sex, I mean?"  
>Anders and Fenris looked at him, perplexed. Fenris's voice was cautious. "Logistics."<p>

"Yes. I mean – if she consents. There are three of us, and one of her. If she wants it over fast, we may want to consider – with a good deal of alcohol involved, assumedly – putting our differences aside and addressing this as a group."

Anders choked on his drink. Fenris gave Zevran a look of pure venom. "If you even _try _and suggest that again, Antivan, I will rip out your hair."

Zevran blinked at them, all innocence. "What? We are all men of the world. If it makes a difference, I _promise _not to touch you. Much."

"Zev, no offense, but you are probably the _last _man I want to be naked in front of." Anders flicked a wary sideways glance at Fenris. "Well – second last. For very different reasons."

Zevran rolled his eyes up to the roof. "Ugh. If ever I needed reminding that I am not in Antiva. Fine, then. So we will be taking turns?"

Anders grimaced. "I suppose so."

"I am _not _going after the mage." Fenris snapped, bristling. Zevran held up his hands, placating. "Anders, my friend. Do you have a preference?"

Anders put a hand to his aching head. "Are we actually having this conversation? _No, _I don't have a preference."

"In which case, I propose – Fenris, Anders, then myself."

"Why would you _want _to go last?"

"Call it a massive assumption, friend, but I believe I'm a touch more experienced than either of you, and whoever has her last will have many – many – hurdles to address. She will be exhausted, sore, maybe distressed. I consider myself equipped to deal with these possibilities."

It seemed like sound reasoning. Anders was also quietly glad that whilst he'd have to follow Fenris, he'd have an opportunity to heal any damage he might cause. Anders glared at the side of Fenris's head. "Can I just put it out there, to both of you that we all need to be _extremely _careful? I've _seen _what damage can be done if a woman isn't ready, and it's –"

"Are you addressing that to _me_, Mage?" Fenris snarled, turning on Anders. Zevran gave a deep sigh. "Really. You two. You'll start gossip if you aren't careful. Anders, don't rile him up, Fenris, his advice is sound. For all of us. May I very _strongly _suggest we all do what we can to clean the stink of battle off us and reconvene here, later? Hawke will want to know about this, and much of the afternoon is gone, already." He flicked a look out the darkening window. "And I think I'm going to head out to the markets before dinner. I feel a pressing need to buy the poor girl something."

Anders blinked. "That's probably a good idea."

"Then by all means, copy it." He got to his feet, wincing at little. "Let's leave Isabela with our Lily. I think she's the only one who can help her, right now."

Isabela had her chin propped up on the bath edge, an expression of mild concern on her face. "You're awfully quiet, love."

Lily shrugged, head aching, the wet pile of her hair in her head not helping. "I'm – sore. And overwhelmed." She gingerly touched the bruise on her head. "And I'm scared."

Isabela considered that, fingertips trailing lightly in the water. "Want to talk it over with me?"

"I've been saved by your people twice now. And managed to get some of you hurt in the process. I have no problems with being in _this _world, since I have no memory of the old one, but having a baby – scares me." She looked down into the water, foam pooling in her collarbones. "And having sex with people I don't know _really _scares me. I'm – sorry. That probably seems stupid."

"If it's any help, I've had _one _of them. I only have wild speculations about the other two."

"Zevran?"

"Oh yes. And I'm rather jealous, sweet thing, that you get to experience him for the first time. He's everything you could _possibly _want. Don't be concerned about him." She looked away, a faraway look in her eyes. Lily winced. "It's not that I'm worried about – No. I just –" She sighed in frustration. "I'm scared because I don't _know _them. And I don't get naked in front of people I don't know. The idea horrifies me. There's just – so many levels to why I'm uncomfortable right now."

"Your self conscious?"

Lily nodded, Isabela patted her wet shoulder. "Look. I can lend you some things. We'll dress you up nice. It'll make you feel in control. Trust me." She paused, looking down at Lily carefully. "Does this mean your going to do it?"  
>Lily exhaled, hard. "I don't think I have a choice."<p> 


	6. Fenris

Lily shut herself away from everyone as night fell, accepting a tray of food from a bright and disgustingly cheerful Sandal and eating sparingly, her stomach churning. Isabela had brushed some cosmetics onto her face, wound her hair up onto her head, and left her a parting gift – a soft, dark grey silk dressing robe, folded on a seat by the fire. After some indecision, she took off her dress and laid it to one side, pulling on the robe. It felt beautiful, gliding over her skin, and she tied it shut, moving to the mirror to look, in bewilderment, at her reflection. It was a stranger, pale and big eyed. She came back to the fireplace and poured herself a large glass of wine, eying the small green vial next to it with trepidation. Isabela had pressed it into her hand before she left. "Look after that." She warned. "It's highly illegal for obvious reasons. If you take it, it will relax you. You'll become more receptive, more willing. It's up to you. It might help." She was unsure about it. She wasn't sure she wanted her inhibitions gone. She had no idea how long it'd take to work, either. She could hear footsteps in the hall, and suddenly seized with fear, she opened the vial and drank it all, wincing at the taste. She huddled back into the lounge, folding her arms across her waist, staring determinedly into the fireplace. She couldn't bring herself to look up, but the soft creak of armor gave him away. "Fenris." She said softly, clasping her hands together. "We – haven't really talked." She looked to the doorway, stomach clenching in fear and stagefright. He closed the door behind him, eyes firmly on the floor. He'd left that gigantic sword behind – thankfully – and he seemed oddly vulnerable without it. He looked up at her, radiating tension and deep discomfort. It reassured her. At least it seemed unlikely he was just going to jump on her. She picked up one of the spare glasses. "Would you like a drink?"

He nodded, once, moving cautiously to the chair opposite her. "Please."

It was the first time she'd heard his voice, and she was startled at how deep and cold it was. And oddly dry. A voice that veered so close to sinister that she shivered a little, and she poured the glass quickly to cover her unsteady hands. She had to stand to bring the glass over to him, and he took it without trying to touch her, eyes making their slow way from her feet up to her face. They made eye contact, and she was faintly stunned at the soft molten green of his eyes. He looked down, the color disappearing under long, dark lashes. "I – have something for you." He was hesitant, stiff, uncomfortable, and she felt an odd ache of pity. He offered her a bundle, wrapped in a soft linen cloth. She inadvertently scratched herself on the sharp edge of his gauntlet as she took it, not expecting the weight of it. "You didn't have to buy me anything."

He looked into the fire. "It was not my idea." He said, shortly. "But I think it's appropriate."

She unfolded the cloth, blinking at the hand length dagger and sheath in her hands. It had wide black leather straps wound around the sheath, and she unfolded them carefully, making a small noise of wonder at the beautiful silver lines curving up the polished wood. "This is beautiful." She said, amazed. "What – what are the straps for?"

"It's a wristblade." He said, shifting his weight in the chair, as if he was uncertain if he should take it back to demonstrate. "It's belted onto the inside if your wrist, hilt down. It's a dangerous city. You should be armed." His mouth twisted into a faint grimace. "Zevran can show you how to use it."

She blinked at him. "You – don't use daggers?"

"I _can_, but these –" he flicked dismissive fingers at the pulsing threads of metallic blue on his arms – "give me more strength than a normal elf my size. I don't think it wise to train you. You could get hurt."

She folded her fingers over the knife. "Can you – tell me about your markings? It's not an elven thing, is it? Merrill's look nothing like yours."

He made a soft noise of contempt. "Hers are tattooed with her own blood, as a ritual for gaining adulthood. Mine were carved into my skin using a magical metal compound known as lyrium." He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering. "My former master. The act destroyed all memories of my former life."

She drained the last of her wine. "It wasn't consensual."

"No." He noticed his wine, as if for the first time, and drank it all, setting aside the glass. They looked at each other, frozen, the tension thick in the air. His jaw tightened, and he looked down at his massive, spiky gauntlets. He had a visible moment of debating, then started undoing the straps holding them together. She watched him for a moment, her heart thumping in her throat, and in a moment of bravery, slid from the lounge to settle on her knees by his right thigh. He tensed, and she reached out for the gauntlet. She had a horrible moment, when her fingers closed around the metal, where she thought he'd snatch the hand back. It looked like he at least considered it, surrendering the arm to her with visible concern. She turned his wrist over, finding the straps underneath, and carefully started to undo them. Her fingers fumbled over the unfamiliar leather, compelled and intrigued by the sliver of dark skin, threaded with bluish silver underneath. It came free, and she pulled on the wrist of it, extracting his hand and arm from the sheets of metal. She set the armor to one side, fascinated by the exposed arm and hand. He was long fingered, his hand slender and tanned, the blue lines snaking down and curling around the base of his fingernails. It must have been agonizing. She stilled, wanting to touch and trace those lines, but scared of that first skin-to-skin contact. He shifted in his seat, offering her the other gauntlet, and she gratefully reached for the buckles, glad to have had that decision taken out of her hands. She was more confident, and it didn't take her as long as the first had. She struggled with the final buckle, and jumped with fright when she felt his fingers – cold, even through the silk – lightly touch the back of her upper arm. She swallowed, her fingers suddenly clumsy as she managed to pull the second gauntlet free, his fingers tracing light circles over the arm of her dressing robe. She set the gauntlet aside, cautiously looking back up at him. He watched her, his eyes shuttered and dark, his lips flushed and slightly parted. She wet her lips, uncertain, and he shifted in his seat, looking away, reaching up to unbuckle his spiky shoulderguards. She couldn't help him without standing, and they seemed a good deal less complicated than the gauntlets. It left him in the black, embossed breastplate. And he detached it with a metallic click, turning his head so he could pull it off and set it on the floor next to his chair. He looked so different without the black sheen and the spikes. He was slender, all muscle and tendon, taller and lankier than most elves seemed to be. His black tunic was closely fitted, only intended to put a layer between his skin and the metal. She could see the edge of his collarbones, the lines curling up and over his skin and disappearing under the fabric. He was looking at her again, frozen, the pair looking at each other with some trepidation and complete fright on her part. She had a moment of dizzy frustration, suddenly realizing that this was up to her. He wasn't going to instigate this for fear of forcing her – so it was going to have to be her. She swallowed, options swirling through her head. The tension was almost painful. She wanted it over. As spiky and contained as Fenris was – he was still a man. There was at least one way she could elicit a reaction. She moistened her lips, summoning her courage before reaching for the laces at the front of his pants. For someone so still, his reflexes were sharp. She flinched as he grabbed her wrist, his nails digging into her pulse. His expression, when she looked up, made her heart stagger. His eyes were huge, brows gathered, perplexed and perilously closed to angry. "Whywould you _do_ that?"

She lost her train of thought, horribly embarrassed and bewildered. "I – I just thought it might – relax you?"

He made a noise of annoyance. "You shouldn't have to do that. It's beneath you. _I _don't expect that of you. You're a participant, not a slave."

She swallowed, head spinning. "I – I'm not doing anything I don't want to, I just –" She felt her cheeks burn. "It's something I enjoy. I thought – you might, too."

He blinked at her, his brow uncreasing and smoothing as his ire faded. "You wanted to?"

"Um. Only if you want me to. I'm not going to _make _you."

He still looked confused, wrestling with the concept of someone _wanting _to do what she was offering. She had a flash of insight – he'd been a slave, he associated the act with submission, humiliation. If nothing else, perhaps she could change that for him. She lightly touched the inside of his knee with her free arm, and he slowly, cautiously shifted his weight so she knelt between his knees, and she caught his eyes, seeking permission. He swallowed, his breath catching in his throat, and he released her wrist. She hoped to god elves didn't have a different reproductive system as she painstakingly unlaced his pants, a tingle moving down her spine as her fingertips met skin, and he hissed, tensing. She handled him carefully, horribly aware of his eyes on her, the tension radiating off him. She felt a momentary stab of panic as she pushed the fabric aside and saw him, properly. He was _big. _She hadn't been expecting that. And it didn't bode particularly well for her. She took a deep breath, leaning forward, curling one hand around him and dragging her lips lightly across the tip. His breath shuddered, and she felt the thigh she had her hand resting on tense under her fingers. He tasted metallic, salty, with an indefinable spice she didn't recognize. A touch braver, she took him into her mouth, struggling a little with the width of him, and was rewarded with a soft moan. It was a sound that made her skin prickle, and when he touched her, his fingers brushing over her cheek before settling into her hair, she welcomed the touch. It felt almost tender, feather light and tentative. She took him as deep as she could, the pressure inside her throat almost unbearable, and he gasped, his hand tightening in her hair, slumping against the back of the chair. He moved with her, supporting her head, the slightest pressure guiding her. She smoothed a hand over his abdomen, caressing the silver curls that grew there, her fingers meeting the belt over his tunic. He obeyed the unspoken request, undoing the belt and setting it aside, pulling his tunic off over his head. She lifted her head off him, momentarily stunned by the beauty of his markings, curling up from his groin and spreading out like a storm cloud across the width of his shoulders, twisting over dark, smooth skin and pulsing softly with light. He was muscular, the firelight catching indentations and old scars. The tendons contracting and tensing across his stomach told her how much she was affecting him. His eyes were closed, some of that silver hair falling across his face, his lips parted, the lines of his face smoothed and peaceful. He was beautiful, infinitely young and perfect in the yellow light. She stared too long, obviously. His eyes opened, clouded and relaxed. They looked at each other for a moment, and his hand in her hair shifted, guiding her back down, and she obeyed, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to push further, managing to swallow the full length of him. He convulsed, the hand in her hair pinning her there for a moment as every muscle she could feel tensed, and he groaned, arching his back. She struggled to contain him, his hand tightening on her hair, becoming painful. She was running out of air, and she pulled back, pressing against him. He resisted her, his legs tightening around her, and she dug her nails into his thigh, startling him into releasing her. She tore free, gasping for air, falling off her knees to half –lie on the fireplace rug behind her, blood pulsing in her swollen lips. He slid off the chair, dropping to his knees above her, his chest heaving and he reached for the sash on the dressing robe. He was still for a moment as he spread the silk aside and looked down at her. He was battling with something, she could see it in his face, and he trailed fingers around the curve of her breast, brushing his thumb lightly over a nipple. The touch of his hands on her skin was a shock – he _tingled, _sending pins and needles darting across her body, and she shivered. He paused, swallowing. "You are afraid." His voice was husky, full of confusion and desire.

She knotted her hands into the fur of the rug. "Yes."

His face twisted, like he'd tasted something bitter, and she had a moment of wondering what she'd said before he dug his fingers into the underside of her knee, dragging her legs open and leaning across her, her skin burning with the cold of his touch on her body. She had a moment where he looked down at her, their faces a bare inch apart, and she leaned up a little, offering her lips, and he turned away. She was hurt as he craned his neck to graze his teeth across her collarbone, and tried to push the unexpected emotion away, concentrating on the feel of his skin, his scent, the silken mass of his hair against her cheek. He was shaking, she realized, every muscle tense and pulled tight. He curled his fingers around her hip, shifting her underneath him, and trailed his hand over her thigh to touch her. His hands were cold, and they tingled on her too sensitive, moist skin. She gasped as he found her opening, and he closed his other hand around her upper arm, steadying her as he slid inside. He found the sensitive spot inside her, and traced it in small circles, and she moaned. His lips were on the curve of her ear, his breath hot on her skin, and she smoothed her hands on to his back, reveling in the shiver of sensation the contact spread across her palms. He was murmuring to her, too soft to make out, and the cadence was unfamiliar; another language, probably. It made her hair stand on end, and a sliver of fear went down her spine as he slid a third finger into her, stretching her, preparing her body. She moved her hand around to rest between them, cautiously, on his collarbone – preparing to push him off her if she needed to. She was afraid, the motion of his fingers inside her sending cold shivers of pleasure across her skin and conflicting wildly with the sudden realization that this man – elf – was a dangerous creature, and she was completely vulnerable. His fingers on her arm tightened, and she gasped at the feel of the length of him pressing against her opening. Her stomach clenched in fear, and she clung to him, her voice a tiny, strangled whimper as he pressed into her, her muscles straining to accommodate him. It hurt, and not just that initial intercourse – his fingers were painfully tight on her arm and her hip, and she shifted uncomfortably, putting the slightest pressure on his collarbone. "You're hurting me." She whispered.

He froze. She felt his jaw clench against her cheek. "You're tense." He said, his voice strained. "And _very _narrow."

She swallowed. "Why don't we just – move this along?"

He shifted back a little to look at her. "You'll get hurt."  
>"It should only be initially." She self-consciously covered her breasts with one arm, and Fenris noted the movement with dark, shuttered eyes. "I should be fine after a minute."<p>

He was unsure, still glazed and languid, moistening his lips as he looked down at her in a way that made something twist uncomfortably in her stomach. "You consent to this."

She closed her eyes. "Yes."

She felt him shift his weight over her, the press of his cold skin on her breasts, and tried hard not to tense as she felt him position himself. He tightened his grip on her arm and hip, and thrust. She cried out in pain, the sound choked by a surprised gasp as he sank his teeth into the curve of her throat. The pain stunned her, and she went limp. He was impossibly big, and she felt like she might split in half as he pushed his way deeper with each thrust. It took him a while to be able to bury himself right up to the hilt in her, and he stilled for a moment when he did, his breath shuddering in his throat. He licked at the tender bite on her neck, dragging his lips over it as he resumed his rhythm, the sharp angle of his hips digging into the soft skin on the inside of her thighs. She tightened her grip on him, trying to impede the motion a little, and he made a soft noise of irritation, pulling back from her for a moment, dragging her off the ground and folding his arms under her, crushing her against his chest. The air was squeezed out of her, and she could barely move, anchored and held firm against him. Every nerve was awake, and the soft brush of his breath on her neck was agonizing. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying hard to relax, her focus oscillating wildly between the pain of his teeth and the ache between her legs. It was milder now, her muscles having adjusted to the shock, and she made herself go limp in his arms, figuring that a non responsive partner was probably better than an actively resisting one. She hoped she wasn't bleeding. That possibility stilled the breath in her throat, and she tensed again, her muscles clenching around him, and he moaned into her shoulder, trembling. She could feel the heat on his face, his sweat on her skin. "Do that for me again." He whispered, and his voice rasped over her, setting everything tingling. She half turned her head, her lips brushing his pointed tip of his ear, and he gave a responsive shudder. "Talk to me." She said softly, his hair brushing her mouth. "Your voice helps."

He was still for a moment, and she reflected with some embarrassment that she would have a similar level of uncertainty when asked, on the spot, to talk during sex. He turned his head, his lips against her ear, and she tensed around him, pulling her knees up to shift the muscles around him. His nails dug into her, and she gasped. "I feared this." He said softly. "I feared what I might do to you." He slid out of her, completely, to trail his fingers over her clitoris, and the tingle of his skin made her flinch and shudder under his touch. "But to feel your skin on mine, to hear your voice, to see you submit to me –" his voice shivered in his throat, as if his control was wavering – "I want you. I want to leave my mark on your skin. I want them _all _to know that _I _was first. And that makes you _mine._" The last word was a sneer, and he slammed into her with enough force to rattle her teeth. She cried out, digging her nails into his back, her body screaming out in pain and pleasure. He rode her hard, his mouth on her throat, a soft growl making his ribs vibrate against her. She could feel the mounting pressure in the base of her spine, and recognized it, though it felt different to any climax she'd ever had before. It started surprisingly mild, a distant sensation of warmth, tension, and steadily built. Her vision started to flicker, and in a moment of delirious, terrified panic, she fought him, nails tearing into his skin. He snarled and fought her back down, grabbing her wrists and pinning them by her shoulders, his breath catching as he picked up speed, the tip of him catching that sensitive spot inside her and spilling her over into a thrashing, blinding climax that made him strain to hold her down. He followed her a moment after, his body shuddering and contracting above her. He gasped her name, once, before collapsing on her, chest heaving. They lay like that, entwined and soaked in sweat for long moments, their staggered breathing masked by the crackle of the fire. She was exhausted, and wished she could have just staggered to bed and slept. Perhaps not with Fenris. She'd gathered enough to realize he probably wasn't a cuddler. As the immediacy of sex began to wear off, she was starting to become aware of how sore she was. Between her legs, on the throbbing bite mark on her neck, around her arms, on her hips, on the inside of her thighs. She was dizzily grateful that she'd asked Isabela to organize baths for her throughout the evening. It was a colossal amount of wasted water, but she couldn't fathom the idea of taking a man to bed with another mans sweat and semen on her. The hot water would help. She shifted her legs slightly, and the spear of pain shooting up from her abused groin made her gasp. Fenris stirred, propping himself up on one arm to look at her. He looked beautiful, like this; his hair tousled and glowing, his lips soft and parted, eyes drowsy. His brows were gathering. "I'm crushing you. I apologize." He shifted his weight off and to one side, freeing her to breathe properly. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the cool air on her skin, before starting to feel a little over exposed. She looked around for her dressing robe, and jumped when Fenris touched her hip. He pushed her flat on her back, sitting up a little higher to look down at her, eyes narrowed. A million and one emotions flitted over his face, and he swallowed. "You're bleeding."

She looked down, edging up onto her elbow. She was immediately revolted, and self-conscious. "Oh. I – please stop looking at me like that." He was looking back up at her, his face an odd mix of anger, horror and self loathing. His thighs were smeared as well, and it completely compounded her mortification. "Fenris. I'm sorry. I have a bath in the other room, I'm totally happy for you to-"

He held up a hand to stall her, looking away. "I caused this. I can't accept your apologies. It's better if I just go." She had a moment of stunned disbelief, before belatedly reaching to grab his wrist. "_No. _That's not fair. How can you possibly know that I wasn't-"

"Do you _really _think a woman doesn't give away when she's ready and when she's not? Do you _need _me to walk you through it?" His voice was sharp, and bitter. He pulled his tunic over his head, dragging his belt off the side table with a metallic rattle. "I didn't get the impression you were that naïve."

It stung, and she recoiled like she'd been hit. She had a horrible urge to cry. "That's unfair." She managed, hating how she could hear her voice shake. She saw his jaw clench as he collected his armor with a clash of metal and buckles. He turned to look at her, once, and she reflexively folded an arm across herself, horribly self aware and hurt by his eyes on her. His mouth was a tight line. "I'll send Anders up." He said, cold, and he turned for the door.

"Fenris-"

He didn't slam it, but the firm thump of wood on metal felt like he'd slapped her in the face.


	7. Anders

The thud of the hallway door brought Hawke and Anders jumping out of their seats, and Hawke instantly held out a hand to stall Anders. "Don't." he said, and Anders understood, glowering and sitting back down. Fenris appeared, his armor under one arm, unwillingly coming to rest in the doorway. He was agitated, his hair roughed up, mouth a tight line. "Anders." He said, his voice clipped and tight. "She needs you."

Anders stood, brow gathering. "Why?" He said flatly.

Fenris didn't answer, turning to leave. Hawke stalled him. "Fenris-" He said, warningly, "why is there blood on your hands?"

There was a very still moment where the four men went silent, and Fenris extracted one hand from his bundle of armor and looked at it, visibly disturbed by the bright red smeared over his fingers. Anders shook off Hawkes gauntlet and stormed across the room, not really sure what he was planning to do until his fist connected with Fenris' cheekbone, sending him staggering back. Hawke yelled something that Anders didn't catch, and Fenris recovered, the armor crashing to the floor as he leapt at Anders, sending him smashing back against the wall with one hand clamped around his throat. He pulled back his bloody hand, and his fist began to smolder silvery blue. Anders had a split second of recognition – _oh Maker – I'd forgotten about the phasing – _before there was the ring of metal and an oversized blade appeared at Fenris' neck.

"I advise you, friend," Zevran said, coolly, "to let go of the mage."

Fenris' face was a disfigured snarl of anger, and he seemed oblivious to the seriousness of Zevran's threat. "You'd wave knives at _me_, Antivan?"

"I would, yes." He said, pleasantly. "And I _dare _you to test my speed against yours."

There was an annoyed rattle of armor as Hawke thumped over to them. "If you're all _quite _done," he snapped, "Anders, _you _are needed upstairs, Fenris, I think it's best you go home, and Zev, put that _damn _knife away." He grabbed Fenris' wrist, shoving it away from Anders' throat, and Zevran backed away, resheathing the blade. Fenris snatched his wrist back, mouth clamped shut, and wordlessly turned away to gather his neglected armor. Hawke held his ground, arms crossed, until the elf had shot a final, black look over his shoulder and stormed out. Anders turned for the staircase, not waiting for a second prompt, feeling decidedly ill, with the image of the blood on Fenris' hands fresh in his mind. He knocked on her door, and there was no response. Concerned, he pushed the door open, blinking at the empty room. The bed was untouched, and besides a half full pitcher of wine, there was no real sign of life. He heard the shifting of water, and exhaled, relieved. If she was well enough to get herself in and out of a bath, that was a good sign. He moved to the bathing room door, tapping on it softly. "Lily?" He asked.

A sudden movement of water as she assumedly jumped. "Anders?" She asked, surprised, but not crying or weepy. Again, a good sign. He considered his words carefully. "Fenris mentioned you might need me to have a look at you."

There was silence, for long enough for Anders to worry that he shouldn't have mentioned Fenris. "You can come in." She said, and he warily opened the door, assailed by the warmth and heat in the bathing room. She'd filled her bath with something opaque and white, and foamy, and she had her knees drawn up to her chin. She looked – small. Her bath water was also decidedly pink. He came closer, hesitant to stand too close to her. "Are you all right?"

She sighed, looking more annoyed than devastated. "I – hurt." She said eventually, staring down at her knees. "It wasn't his fault. Or mine. It was just – far too awkward for both of us."

"He made you bleed."

"_Anyone _could make me bleed, regardless of how gentle or otherwise they are. _That _has nothing to do with Fenris." She raised a dripping hand to her brow. "I'm just embarrassed."

Anders looked down at her, relieved, but also a little concerned that he'd punched Fenris for no particular reason. Not that it hadn't felt good. She shifted in the water, hair sliding off her shoulder, and he saw the nastiest, most swollen bite mark he'd ever seen. He suddenly didn't feel bad any more. "Can I help you?" He offered, detaching his staff and propping it up against the wall by his side.

She considered him, eyes steady but cautious. "You'll need to touch me, won't you?" He went still. "Yes." He said, eventually. "I'm sorry. All I can do it promise that right _now_, I'm a healer. We'll – look after this, then I'll go to the other room and wait for you. Is that all right?"

He was relieved that she didn't seem tense or look at all uncomfortable. She weighed her options, watching him with those bright eyes, and nodded. "Should I get out?"

"You're fine where you are. I'll just take this coat off so I don't get saturated."

He had a moment of thanking his own foresight, however long ago, that he didn't wear robes any more. He was self-conscious enough setting aside his coat and belt and coming over to her in his shirt and pants. He tended not to wear a huge amount under his robes back in _those _days, it would have made this encounter a little embarrassing. He knelt on the step up, rolling up one sleeve. "What hurts most?"

She blushed a little. The effect was beautiful. "Um. Down there. I guess. My terminology isn't good."

He nodded, and tried hard not to think too much about what he was doing as she unfolded her legs, one knee above the level of the water his only guide as he submerged one hand in the almost painfully hot water. His fingers found the plane of her stomach – soft, smooth skin, and he trailed his fingers through the curls of her pubic hair and down. She flinched, grimacing, and he lightened his touch. He winced in sympathy, feeling the heat of her body under her fingertips. "You're inflamed." He said quietly. "If I heal this, I'm not going to be able to help you – in that area, I mean – for a few days. The skin doesn't take to repeated healing."

She gave him a very soft smile. "I'm not too concerned about you. And if Zevran's rough, I'll heal up normally. Thank you."  
>He didn't really want to talk to her about Zevran, but he did want to address that for her peace of mind. "He won't be. I have my disagreements with Zev, but he's not violent. As far as women are concerned, anyhow." He closed his eyes, focusing out and down – the healing gave him a moment of awareness of the damage, and he cringed back from it a little. She <em>did <em>hurt. She wasn't badly torn, just bruised more than anything, the bleeding having stopped. He wasn't going to be able to completely repair everything, she'd still be tender, and he'd have to be very careful with her later. He had a moment of seething resentment towards Fenris, and tried to push it from his mind as he extended a tendril of energy into her skin, soothing it, reining back the inflammation. She made a little noise of relief, and he swallowed, already horribly conscious of her naked body in front of him, the undefined shape of her nipples that he'd seen just under the water. When he opened his eyes again, she'd slumped back against the edge of the bath, eyes closed, lips parted. He had a moment to look at her, flushed and wet and beautiful, before her eyes opened slowly. "You are wonderful, you know that? What you have is an incredible gift."

He lifted a dripping arm from the water. "Thank you." He said, simply. "Can I do something for your neck?"

It looked like she'd forgotten about it, flinching and coloring as her fingers sought the spot. "Oh. Um – yes. Please."

He touched her neck with his wet hand, relieved to discover that it was nowhere near as bad as it looked. He brought down the swelling, paling the bruising. When he lifted his hand away, he sighed. "I think it might scar."

She nodded. "I'm not surprised."

He found the idea suddenly unbearable, that she'd always have Fenris' mark on her. He looked away for a moment, fighting to stop from letting it show on his face. Her wet hand touched his, and he started. "It's alright." She said quietly. "I'm – not going to talk you through it, but it's not what you're imagining. Can you trust me and leave it at that?"

He sorted through a million responses, and decided to play the peacekeeper. "I trust you." He said eventually. "And more to the point, it's none of my business." He picked up a small hand towel and dried his arm, trying studiously not to look at her. "I'll wait in the other room? I'm not in any hurry."

The smile she gave him was impish and adorable. "Oh good." She said, amused. "Neither am I. It least I don't have to get re-dressed."

He blinked at her in confusion, and she laughed. "There's wine by the fire. You should probably have some."

He stood, backing away from the bath. "I will. I'll – um – see you soon."

She had one arm folded across her knees, shielding her mouth, but her eyes twinkled as he left the room. He went back to the fire dazed, and a little confused. Perhaps she was just relieved that he was next? Or that the more intimidating of the three was over? She seemed in oddly high spirits. He sat on the lounge, reaching for the pitcher of wine, and his hand stilled when he caught sight of the small green bottle, lying empty and on its side. He picked it up, sniffing at the neck of the bottle, his nose wrinkling. _Swampbloom. _Very illegal, and a reoccurring herb whenever Anders had to deal with rape victims. It made the imbiber docile, mellow, more responsive. Isabela almost certainly had something to do with Lily having some of this. He set the bottle back down, feeling bad. Had she really though she'd need that to get through an evening with him? Logic told him she'd probably taken it before Fenris appeared, and he hoped that was the case. He winced. If her relaxed playfulness _now _was the result of the swampbloom, then there was no way the effect had kicked in yet when she was with Fenris. Poor girl. He poured himself some wine, nervously tracing the lines in the wrapping of the gift he'd brought her. He'd ended up accompanying Zevran, admitting some trepidation over what to buy her. He'd bought gifts for women before, but it had certainly been a long time, and never in such odd circumstances. Luckily when he'd seen it, it clicked in place immediately and he'd bought it without even asking Zevran's opinion. Zevran had eyed it with some appraisal, shrugged, and remarked obliquely; "well. It seems you wish to seek out our Princess once this night is over, hmm?" Anders had glared at him and asked for clarification, and the assassin had smirked and stayed silent. He'd started to understand, a little, what he'd meant – it wasn't something sensual, or playful, it was something that displayed some thought and foresight. Something meant for a partner, not a casual lover. That worried him, a little. He hoped she wouldn't come to that conclusion as well. There was enough pressure on her this evening without additional complications. He drank deeply, trying to drown the butterflies in his stomach. He felt bad for wanting this. His only consolation was that she seemed to be – not eager, but unconcerned. She wasn't revolted or upset, she was comfortable with the idea. He tried to push aside his guilt. It'd be easier on both of them if they could try and nurture some attraction for each other.

He could hear her stepping out of the bath, and drained his glass, welcoming the faint swimming sensation in his head.

She was – calm. The vial Isabela had given her had engulfed her in warm, soft light, and she found herself awestruck in front of her mirror, blearily amazed that she'd never noticed how much her skin glowed. Wrapping herself in her silk wrap felt like such a crime, to cover that glowing skin. She ached a little, but the difference was tremendous. Anders' hands were a soothing, wonderful thing. She'd enjoyed the sight of him, jaw set in a way which told her he was _very _aware of her, his hands on her wet skin. He was a gentleman in a very traditional way, and that was reassuring. She knew he'd be watching her very carefully, backpedaling if she showed the slightest sign of discomfort. Which was good. She was still very tender. She hoped, selfishly, that he wouldn't be as huge as Fenris was. She thought she might faint if she saw another penis that size. She smoothed down her wrap, and opened the door out to her bedroom.

He was sitting on the lounge, nursing an empty glass, other hand running distractedly over a wrapped shape sitting on his thigh. He looked different without that coat, with the big feathered pauldrons and the belt. He looked less intimidating, softer, like you could cuddle up to him. She sighed a little. She wished he'd been last. She wouldn't have minded taking this man to bed and falling asleep next to him. He had a sharp nose and cheekbones, his face narrower than was typically considered handsome, but his eyelashes were long and dark, and he had a generous mouth and a strong, clear gaze. He looked, overwhelmingly, like a protector. And she was self aware enough to understand why that made her lean towards him. He looked up, his lips parting as he looked at her. She rested a hand on the mantelpiece, patiently letting him look her over. His response was flattering. His knuckles tightened on the gift, and he swallowed. "You're beautiful tonight, Lily."

She rewarded him with a smile. "Thank you. I like you without your coat. Perhaps you need to show more chest more often?"

He gave a soft laugh, one hand moving self-consciously to the largish triangle of blonde hair the linen shirt revealed. "Oh, you know. Wouldn't do to distract the enemy." He looked down at the gift. "I – have something for you."

She moved towards him, folding up one leg to sit next to him, half turned to face him. Her proximity made him tense, and she tried hard not to look too intimidating. "You do? So the gift-giving was _your _idea, then? I'm grateful, if a bit surprised."

He blinked at her. "Fenris gave you a gift?"

"He did. A wristblade." She nodded towards the far seat, and he was begrudgingly impressed at the beauty and practicality of what Fenris had chosen. He offered her the package. "No, it wasn't my idea. I wasn't thinking very straight. It was Zevran's. I didn't think Fenris would do something that thoughtful."

She sighed, running her hands over the bolt of linen the gift was wrapped in. "I think it was a preemptive apology." She said. "I certainly don't think it was romantic or anything." She unfolded the material, making a soft exclamation as the fabric fell away. "Oh – Anders." She ran her fingers over the embossed leather, the enameled illustration set into the cover. "Are these religious stories? Or –" She opened the front page, eager, "Ah. Fairy tales. This is _beautiful. _How did you know how I feel about books?" She folded the heavy volume against her chest, delighted, and he flushed slightly with pleasure. "Well – you said you were a scholar, and I thought it might help you – understand. All of this. A bit better."

She made a little noise of delight, giving him a brilliant smile. "_Thank _you. This means a lot. It's perfect. I'll have to find you something nice so I don't feel horribly indebted to you."

He shook his head, still beautifully pink. "Oh – no no. As horrible as it is, I think this evening completely covers any debt you would have to me." She stilled for a moment, and he visibly panicked. "I mean – oh Maker. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that as it sounded."

"That's all right, Anders. No ones going to strike us down if you enjoy yourself. If _we _enjoy ourselves." She hastily amended, seeing the look on his face. "Look. Let me thank you more traditionally." She set the book aside, and cautiously reached for him. He caught her wrist, lightly, mindful of her bruises. "Look. I need to say something first."

She blinked at him, waiting. He took a deep breath. "I've tried to think this through, think about what's least likely to hurt you, and if you're comfortable with it – I want to treat you like you're my lover. I know it's more intimate than you're probably expecting, but I'm hoping you'll be all right with it, and I _know _it'd help me. Is that – all right?"

He was so earnest and concerned, she melted a little. Her relief was tremendous. "Please." She said simply, and closed her eyes as he reached for her, pulling him into the circle of his arms. The kiss, when it came, was hesitant, sweet, the scratch of the stubble on his cheeks welcome, and _human. _He was warm, and firm, the chest she leaned into surprisingly rigid under her hands. She made a little noise of surprise as her fingers found his flat stomach. He broke off the kiss, looking embarrassed. "Ah – yes. I _was _a Grey Warden. I think some of the things in the book might clarify what that means. I'm not really as soft as most mages." She cuddled into him, and he touched her back, his warmth all around her. He reached out to touch her face, touching her mouth with callused fingers, and she lightly lipped them, taking the tips into her mouth, and the look on his face twisted something in her stomach. He took her face in both hands, pulling her towards him and half onto his lap. He folded his arms around her, and she melted into his embrace, content to play this role for him. It was soothing, gentle, beautiful. She felt safe, warm. He spread his hands on her back, tracing the dip of her spine, the shift of her muscles under the silk. She touched his face, the stubble on his cheeks, that beautiful mouth. He kissed her fingertips, applying gentle pressure to her back to pull her closer and bring her mouth down to his. He was getting braver, biting lightly on her bottom lip and pressing up and into her. She relaxed her jaw, letting him prise her teeth open with his tongue, molding herself around his body. She felt his breath catch when she pressed her breasts up against his chest, and his grip on her tightened, pinning her against him. He broke off the kiss to nuzzle the spot below her ear, his hands sliding up to catch the hem of her robe, at the back of her neck. He froze there, unsure, and she hunched her shoulders a little, letting the robe slide open a little, giving him permission. He took her earlobe into his mouth, caressing it with his tongue, and she slumped against him, vaguely registering the slight chill as he pulled the robe away from her and let it slide to the floor beside them. She could feel how his breath staggered as his hands touched her bare skin, hesitant, suddenly shy, and she shifted a little under his hands, trailing her lips over the curve of his neck and licking the hollow at the base of his throat. He had a smell that was identifiably male, as familiar and warm as the sun, and she sank her fingers into the hair on his chest, luxuriating in the sensation on her palms, tugging at the linen of his shirt. He spread his fingers on her back, shifting, laying her out on the lounge, raising a hand to the back of his shirt and pulling it over his head. She made a little noise of wonder as she looked up at him, golden in the firelight. He was massively scarred, nicks and jagged lines crisscrossing his torso. He put a self-conscious hand on his chest, managing a smile. "My time with Hawke has actually been the _least _violent in my life." He didn't want to dwell on it, obviously, and her inevitable questions died as he leaned forward, tracing callused fingers up her side to rest lightly on the side of her breast. He kissed her, deeply, giving her the time to squirm away from the more intimate touch if she so desired. She reached for his hand, guiding him, and he sighed into the skin of her neck as his hand cupped her breast. He kneaded her, his rough thumb tracing the outline of her nipple and she shivered, raising her hands to touch the back of his head, finding the short ponytail of hair and pulling it free. She buried her hands in his hair, raking her nails across his scalp, and he nuzzled into her neck, shifting down so he could lick the channel between her breasts. She let her head fall back, dazed and a little dizzy, and gasped in surprise and pleasure as he took one of her nipples into his mouth, lightly grazing it with his teeth. She tightened her grip on his hair, locking her legs around his waist, and she could feel the heat of her grind against his abdomen. He moaned into her skin, his muscles tensing against her. He went still for a moment, visibly fighting for control, and he swallowed. "Presumptuous of me, I know, but do you mind if we take this somewhere more comfortable?"

She locked her arms around his neck, and tightened her leg lock around his torso. "I hope you're as strong as you look." She said mildly. He folded his arms around her back, lifting her up off the lounge, and she squeaked in surprise as his hands tightened under her hips. She clung to him, nestling her face into the curve of his neck as he carefully navigated the furniture and spilled her on to the bed. She put a hand on his chest, halting him as he shifted to climb on top of her. "Wait."

He instantly froze. "Are you all right?"

"How are you still clothed?" She asked. "That seems unfair." She sat up on the bed, reaching for the laces on his pants, and he let her unlace him. She smoothed her hands under the waistband of them, sliding them off him. He went to climb on to the bed with her, and she stopped him again, one hand raised as she looked him over.

"You are _lovely._" She said, fervently.

He looked amused. "I don't think that's a word I've ever heard applied to me before." He said drily, finally climbing up to tower over her, fingers trailing over her stomach. "I can't regret this." He said suddenly. "I know the circumstances are – bad, but you're _so_ beautiful."

She touched his mouth, silencing him, feeling warm and touched by his words. "I can't, either." She replied. "Though it'd be nice to have been able to devote my _whole _attention to you."

He kissed her fingertips. "At least that's something I can do for you, anyhow." She hadn't quite grasped the implications of that until he started to press kisses down her belly, weaving questing fingers into her pubic hair. She grabbed at his shoulder in panic when he started to nip at the skin below her belly button. "No. Anders – no."

His head came up, and he blinked at her, bewildered, then cautious. "Why not?"

She could feel her face going red. "I just – It's too much. I'm sorry. In a normal course of things it'd probably take me a while before I let my partner do that."

He looked down at her, a bare handsbreadth below him, and made a sad noise. "I can't talk you into it?"

"Anders-"

"No no, I'm sorry. It's all right. We won't talk about it again." He climbed back up her, nuzzling into her breasts. "But if you do change your mind, you're going to have to spell it out for me."

"I'll just grab you by the hair and drag you. Sound all right?"

"Sounds wonderful."

She shifted, holding his hip, insistently rolling him onto his back. He made a soft noise of pleasure as she straddled his thighs, settling her weight, looking down at him. She was just out of his reach, his fingertips able to settle on her thighs. She ran her knuckles over the surface of his stomach, tracing the scars and the lines of muscle. He made an impatient noise and reached for her – and she raised an eyebrow at him, shuffling further out of reach. He closed his eyes as she lightly dragged her nails across the join between torso and thigh, leaning forward to take one of his nipples between her teeth. He hissed, sharply, flinching, lifting a hand to caress her hair and another to cup her breast. His skin was deliciously warm, and she shifted a little higher so she could brush the length of him with her cleft. He froze for a moment, then grabbed her arms, pulling her up to his eye level before kissing her, hard, and running his fingers down her body to lightly stroke the inside of her thigh. His touch was maddening, and she could feel the soft hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she shivered, moaning into his open mouth. His breath was short, and his chest beading with sweat, and she reached down to cup his balls in one hand, stroking, running her nails over the seam down their middle. He nearly took her tongue off with the force of his reaction, every muscle spasming underneath her. He made an odd, strangled noise and grabbed her wrist. "I – oh, Maker – I can't keep this up if you touch me like that."

"I've barely touched you."

"I _know_." His smile was shaky. "I'm only human. You're _amazing._" He settled his hands on her hips, pressing down on her, and she could feel the hot, rigid skin underneath her. She was throbbing with need, and a touch of fear. He angled himself up to sit upright, pulling her into a tight embrace. "Are you all right?" He asked softly, into the skin of her neck.

She shivered, the cool air touching the sweat on her back. "Yes." She whispered, sliding a hand down between them to hold him, circling her thumb around his tip before shifting a little and positioning him underneath her. He tightened his grip on her as she tentatively arched her back, fitting herself around him. He didn't have Fenris' girth, to her immense relief, and the initial stab of pain was fleeting, leaving only fullness, the sensation of stretching, and his fingers digging into her. He pressed into the small of her back, forcing her to hold the arch in her spine, and he licked the length of her throat as she made her careful way down his shaft, flinching at every inch of progress. He felt good inside her, hot and hard, and she lipped his ear, murmuring his name. His hands on her hips tensed, and he gently ground up into her. She surprised herself by crying out, a shudder of sensation rippling over her, and he did it again, a soft, low growl rumbling in the base of his throat. He stilled, panting. "You don't hurt?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes_, Anders, I promise." She squirmed, and his breath caught. "I'm past the dangerous bit. It's – fine from here."

"Oh, good." He rolled her, and she squeaked in surprise as his weight came down on her, pushing him deeper. His lips found hers, his tongue in her mouth, as he began to move, slowly, gently, exploring her from the inside. She let herself relax into his arms, closing her eyes, her fingers tracing the scars on her back. He ran a hand down the back of her thigh, lifting it a little, and she followed his lead, wrapping her legs around him and crossing her ankles. The angle shifted, and she gasped as he slid his fingers between them and found her clitoris. She hadn't realized until the touch came how close she was, and as he picked up speed she could feel the heat and tension of climax building from the base of her spine. Her breath seized and she clung to him as it hit her, a ragged cry tearing from her throat as he slammed into her, his mouth bruising hers. For a moment she was blind and deaf, her blood pounding in her ears, and then he whispered her name and she felt him shudder inside her. She was limp and saturated, breathing hard, and he immediately shifted off her, holding her to him so she rolled onto her side and against his chest. He cradled her, and she huddled into him. She was distantly aware of the sound of the fire, the wind outside, the rattle of the windows, but it seemed vague, unclear, like she was dreaming. She was languid and relaxed, and for the moment, things felt all right. Anders cared about her – she'd gathered _that _much, but it wasn't until she felt him hold her, damp with sweat and the fluids of their lovemaking, that it was really driven home. She was unsure how she felt about that. As warm and safe and _protected_ as she felt – she'd known him for barely two days. And she was drunk and addled with swampbloom. And so drained and overwhelmed she was having difficulty with the concept of even thinking beyond this day, this moment. He was stroking her hair, his lips on her forehead.

"You're thinking very hard."

"I do that. This is all just – overwhelming." She traced her hands across the blonde hair on his chest. "I can't even imagine what getting up and going about the day normally tomorrow is going to feel like."

"Me either." He with lightly stroking the back of her arm with his fingertips. It was soothing, gentle. He looked down at her, tilting his head. "Don't think you're the only one who usually takes this – kind of thing – seriously."

She gave him a tentative smile. "I thought that might be the case. Not that you aren't a devastating ladies man, of course."

He gave a soft snort of laughter into her forehead. "I'm fooling no one. There's - extenuating circumstances." His face shifted a little, and she thought about enquiring further, and decided against it. She curled an arm over his back, and she could almost feel the warm glow coming from her voluntary embrace. His kissed her forehead. "Have you given any thought to the future?"

"In – what sense?"

She could feel him hesitating, the caution in his words. "Well – I mean – you're going to have a baby."

She flinched, and she could feel him backpedaling. "I'm sorry, Lily."

"It's okay." She'd been trying very hard not to think about it. "I'm doing my best not to think too hard."

"That's fair enough." He paused. "I just want you to know that regardless of parentage, I'll be here for you. As a healer, and a friend."

She was still for a moment, digesting that. "That's generous, Anders. I'm sure you can appreciate how badly I need friends right now."

It seemed as subtle a way as possible of suggesting that she couldn't even fathom a relationship at this moment. He was still, and she wasn't brave enough to look up. The moment passed, and he squeezed her, his hands settling on her back. "I can certainly be _that._" His tone was light, and she exhaled, relieved. She pressed a kiss to his breastbone. "Thank you." She paused. "I just – I don't want to act like this didn't happen, but –" she could hear how badly she was going about this. She grimaced. "What I mean is, if this prophecy thing hadn't happened, we'd all still be tentatively getting to know each other. I'd like to try and go back there. With the knowledge of this evening, sure, but we're all still – strangers."

She felt him nod. "I can understand. I'd suggest going out and getting drunk, but-"

She sighed. "I'm going to miss that."

"I'm happy to go on a sympathetic drinking ban, if it helps."

"Oh, no. You're going to have moments of realizing you have a possible future child and you need to have alcohol on hand. It's only fair."

He chuckled into her hair. "I'm going to enjoy getting to know you."

She nuzzled his chest a little. "Likewise."

There was a companionable moment of silence, and he smothered a yawn. "I don't _really _want to leave."

"No." She mumbled, drowsy. "I _wish _I could just sleep."

"I'm _very _close, I think. I'd really better leave before I do." He sighed, sadly. "I'm pretty unwakeable once I'm there."

"Hmm. Might make the rest of my night a bit awkward."

"What Zevran? Unlikely. He was all for doing this evening as a big drunken orgy."

"_What_?" She detangled herself, half sitting up, mouth open. "_Really?" _

He looked guilty. "Oh. I probably shouldn't have told you that. Look, he was just trying to get a rise out of us. And it _worked._ He just flirts. That's his thing. Women, men, whatever. It's how he breaks the ice, evaluates people, all of that. He's not malicious or spiteful. I promise. Please forget I told you. It's probably not strictly fair to him."

She narrowed her eyes. "I will – take it into consideration. He's still going to have to make a certain amount of effort before he comes anywhere near me."

"Oh, he'll make effort." He sat up, reluctantly, and after a moment's hesitation, took her jaw in one hand to kiss her chastely on the lips. "On _that _note – I'd best let him know."

"Not _yet." _She stood gingerly, slightly sore and stiff. "I'm having another bath."

"Ah. Right. That makes sense, I'll – see you in the morning, then?"

She pulled her dressing gown on, giving him as sincere a smile as she could manage. "In the morning. We can go back to acting like civilized people."

"I don't think you know us very well yet."


	8. Zevran

She had to huddle by the cold windows in an effort to keep herself awake, her body damp and warm and every instinct telling her to drift off the sleep. The growing storm and the occasional slivers of icy wind sneaking through the panes stimulated her a little, stinging her awake, and she welcomed them. She could feel Isabela's potion wearing off, leaving her groggy and a little sick. It seemed unfair that it's strongest impact had been felt with Anders, who she was _least _worried about. Zevran concerned her. She'd always been leery of that self confident, lothario type – it was an instinctual response when he'd gone to kiss her hand – and his swaggering, golden beauty set off alarm bells. Beautiful men were trouble. And when the man in question was so _confident_ – she tightened her arms around her knees. She didn't like feeling out of her depth. And she had no misconceptions about her own physical appeal. He certainly could do better, and she wouldn't have even _attempted _him in a million years. It was a strange pairing that she was very wary of. She knotted her hands together. He was also taking his sweet time. What could he be doing?

The soft cough, when it came, brought a little shriek of fright from her and made her spin from the window, standing clumsily and instantly backing into the wall behind her with a thump. Zevran was leaning comfortably on the chair Fenris had sat in, hands loosely folded, a look of faint curiosity on his face. "Now why, Princess, would you choose what must be the coldest spot in the room to perch? Not that you aren't a thrill to the passersby below, of course."

She prickled, still shaken, heart thumping painfully in her ribs. "I'm trying very hard to stay awake." She snapped. "Though I think you've taken care of that nicely. Thank you."

He gave a deep sigh. "I frightened you. I apologize. I have quiet feet." He idly inspected his nails, and she took the opportunity to pull her gown more tightly closed. "But now that we have ascertained that you are very much awake, we can get to the more important business of getting to know each other. Come. You have a lovely roaring fire and I am fiendishly glad for a chance to see you fully illuminated." He straightened up, moving across the rug to drape himself across the lounge. He watched her cautious approach with eyes that were thankfully only curious, inquiring. She opted to choose the midpoint on the lounge – not as far from him as she could get, and not too close. He wasn't armored, as she'd first seen him – he'd opted for a soft velvet tunic in a very dark gray, a gold earring and golden ring his only jewelry. The gold of his skin was almost metallic in the firelight, his blonde, shoulderlength hair a soft pale shadow behind the vibrancy of his body. He had dark eyes, a long nose, and full, sensual lips. They were hard to look away from. She folded her legs and looked determinedly into the fire. She could feel him looking her over, and she shifted a little uncomfortably.

"Now you _must _be wearing something of Isabela's, am I right?" he asked, his accent soft and tinged with amusement.

She raised an eyebrow. "Why? Do you recognize it?"

He smiled. It was a brilliant, perfect smile. "Ah! She's told you of me, then. Only good things, I hope."

"Perhaps."

"It is intriguing to see such a scandalous thing on such a pure creature such as yourself. I find myself fascinated."

She couldn't think of a single appropriate response to that. "I'm covered." She looked down to responsively check she wasn't showing too much cleavage. He raised a long and beautiful hand to allay her concerns. "Oh no, Princess. I wasn't talking of anything so vulgar as the display of skin. Silk is a sinuous fabric. It clings to you. You are a vision of desire tonight, beautiful lady." The soft purr of attraction (feigned, surely? She couldn't begrudge him that) was in his voice, and she responsively flushed. "Please don't."

"Don't what, pet?"

"Compliment me. Like that. It makes me uncomfortable."

"Surely you must be used to such things from men."

"I don't remember anything. I have no idea." She said tersely. "I – look. You aren't here because you want to be with me. Why don't we just get this over with?"

He blinked at her. "Princess?"  
>"Don't <em>call <em>me that." She stopped, lifting a hand to her forehead. "I'm sorry. You have as little choice in this as I. You don't deserve my rudeness." She gave a deep sigh. "I apologize."

"Don't apologize. You appear to be weathering this quite well." He tilted his head. "May I come closer?"

She nodded, once, cautiously tense as he half stood, folding one leg underneath him and sliding back onto the lounge, an arm bent and propped up on the back of the chair. He was turned to face her, eyes intent. He offered a hand, and she hesitantly took it. He folded it between his own. "Lily." He said softly, and she tingled a little at the sound of her name in that luscious accent. "I am not a liar. I firstly hope you believe me when I say that. Feel free to ask clarification from the other at a later time. Now, when we saved you from those slavers, your appearance played no part in our decision to help you. However, once we _had _rescued you, I will admit to being – selfishly glad." He caught her eyes, a deep, dark warmth in them. "I am drawn to beautiful things. And any man can explain the appeal of a beautiful, vulnerable creature. I saw you, lying bound on the cold sand, and I thought to myself, Zevran – this woman is something _else. _And as it turned out, that was very true." He looked away idly, giving her space to digest. He turned her hand over, running his fingertips over the plane of her palm. "You worry that I pretend to be attracted to you, yes? I assure you, this isn't the case. And yet you forbid me to speak to you of your beauty. You are a cruel, wicked woman." He gave her an impish smile, the barest curve of his lips. "I consider it my divine right to lavish you with pretty words and kisses."

She tried very hard not to laugh. "You're making fun of me."

"Oh, never. I am entirely sincere. And _more _to the point, I consider this evening a rare gift. An opportunity to show you, to the greatest of my ability, why I should be allowed back to your bed at a later time." She immediately opened her mouth to respond, and he touched a finger to her lips. "Hush, now. I speak bluntly because you wish to know the truth. This is it. You are tired, and most likely sore, and I can only hope that your other lovers this evening have been as good to you as you deserve. I expect nothing from you. But I want you to let me set you at ease as best as I can. I am asking for your trust."

She was still, heart thudding in her throat. He was good. She almost completely believed him. He was looking at his fingers on her lips, his eyes halflidded. "A woman never looks so lovely as when she has come from lovemaking." He murmured. "Her hair tousled, marks of passion on her body. And her lips – flushed, luscious. Bitten. Who has been biting at those lips, Princess, to create such a heartstopping color?" He shifted in a little, his lips parted. "You look at me with those eyes, Lily, and I am – overwhelmed. Let me take care of you. Let me _worship _you. Give me your trust and I promise you, you will _never _experience another like me." His eyes drooped closed for a moment, and he looked up at her through his long lashes. "Nor will you want to."

She swallowed, and his fingers traced the line of her lips. "You're very sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"Not at all. But your need _sings _out to me. Where you want to go beyond this night – that is up to you. But whatever decision you make, I am yours. Friend, confidante, lover. I can be any and all these things. What _I_ want from you is this evening. Let us forget this witchy, prophetic nonsense. We are two consenting adults, driven together by a storm outside and the promise of wild, animalistic sex." She managed a weak laugh, and he smiled. "Does it seem so daunting now, my pet?"

She found her voice. "No."

He nodded, grace and elegance in such a small gesture. "I bought you a gift. I was hoping you would permit me to use it." He turned away, gathering a wooden box from the sidetable and offering it. She took it off him, nearly dropping it, not expecting the weight. She opened it cautiously, setting it down and lifting out the pot nestled in velvet inside. It was heavy, and not just the contents – it was silver, as far as she could tell, inset with turquoise, finely engraved in curling lines that reminded her, with a start, of Fenris. She unscrewed the lid, and a heavenly, sultry smell wafted out. "Is it – a candle?"

"Close, but no. It's scented balm. It melts when warmed in your hands. It is a lotion, a perfume, a massage oil, if you prefer." He inhaled deeply, a soft smile on his face. "Mostly sandalwood, with some spice, and sweetness. All things that conjure up your face, my pet." He very lightly brushed his fingertips over the line of her jaw, and she blushed. "You must be sore. I consider myself _very _good with my hands. Antivan massage is an artform."

"Does it being Antivan mean it usually ends in sex?"

"Oh, absolutely. Now. I'm going to be eminently practical and suggest we maybe move to the bed. Your legs will be very little use to you once I'm done."

"I can't tell when you're joking and when you aren't."

"Oh, I never joke." He stood, helping her to her feet. "You'd best remove that robe, Princess. I need bare skin to work my magic."

She turned away from him, moving around the lounge, thankful for a moment to try and cool her rampaging blushing. This was ridiculous. The man was a menace. She moved to the bed, and looked over her shoulder. He hadn't come towards her, his hands cradling the silver pot, his eyes languid and full of her. She swallowed and turned her back to him unknotting the gown and letting it drop off her shoulders. She held onto it, holding it around her hips as she climbed onto the bed, shielding herself from his view. He made a soft, warm noise of pleasure. "_You_, Princess, have undressed for the eyes of a man before. You wield the curves of your body like a blade."

Her blush sprung back to life. "And _you _need to write a book full of your pretty phrases."

He laughed, a rich, velvety sound. "Youflatter me_. _I hope I can inspire praise of my more physical charms before the night is through." He walked towards her, lazily, and she turned her head away so she could close her eyes, settled on her stomach on the bed, silk folded across her hips. He stopped, beside her. "Don't consider me overly aggressive, but I'm going to take this tunic off. I may blind you with my unearthly beauty. It is only fair to warn you."

He startled her into a laugh. "Are you planning on getting a massage as well?"

"Oh, perhaps. It is far more to do with the fact that it's suddenly rather warmin here."

She found herself liking this man. If nothing else, he was funny, warm, beautiful. If he was as sincere as he saidhe was, then he was really something quite special. It was also very easy to see that he had been with many, _many_, women. She felt like that should bother her. She looked back over her shoulder to watch him pull his tunic over his head, dropping it carelessly over the footboard of the bed. She exhaled, hard. He was lovely, all golden muscle, with only a small handful of the scars that Anders and Fenris had so much of. The black curved lines around one eye were echoed further down his body, curving around one dark nipple, snaking over his hip and out of sight into the waistband of his pants. He flicked amused eyes to her. "A man might feel objectified under such a stare, princess."

She hid her smile behind her folded arms. "You're very impressive."

"Impressive? And I'm only _half_ naked. Save your terminology for later, pet." He came towards her, a gentle swagger to his walk, and he set the silver pot next to her ribs. She flinched at the cold touch of metal. "Now. Before we begin. We did ascertain that you trust me, yes?"

It seemed a dangerous question. "To a point." She said cautiously.

"So if I told you that in order for me to get into a reasonable position to give you this massage, I would have to touch you in a way that might – ah – surprise you?"

"I would say – it's for the greater good?"

"I like your style." He brought one knee up onto the bed, hoisting himself up, spreading one cool hand over the small of her back and straddling the backs of her thighs. She squeaked with surprise, tensing, and he shifted his weight a little, pressing down on her spine. "Careful now, my pet. If you jump too much you'll send me falling off the bed."

She was hyperventilating, she realized. "I – wasn't expecting that."

"Mmhmm. I am not adverse to a romantic ambush." She felt the pot shift, the scrape of metal as he removed the lid. "Now I suspected it would be the case, but up close? You have skin like new milk. _And _as soft as a feather. It is debatable who I think will enjoy this more." The scent of the balm intensified, and there was the soft sound of suction as he kneaded the balm between his hands. "Now. Any bruising I should know about? Beyond the rather remarkable one around your upper arm?"

"Oh. Um – my left hip. That's it."

"That's a very impressive love bite you have there, by the way. Does it hurt?"

"It's just tender."

His voice was softer, gentle. "I can assume Anders wouldn't mark you in such a way."

She didn't find any judgment in his voice. "You'd be right."

"I am torn. On one hand I am impressed that he would throw down such a challenge as this. On the other I am _unimpressed _that he would mark such beautiful skin as yours. What on earth is he thinking?"

"A challenge? What?"

"Oh, Princess. He marks you like this, when you prepare to go to another mans bed? It is primitive, but also very clear." There was a little pause, where he considered. "I doubt it was something he put thought into. I hope he did not hurt you."

"I'm all right." She mumbled into her arm, visions of her bloodied thighs flashing in front of her. "You – don't really want me to talk about that, though."

"I will listen to anything you have to say." He said mildly. "And I am _quite _far from the jealous type. I also have a lurid imagination. I am dyingto know details."

"I – don't think that's fair on the others."

He gave a deep sigh. "And _they _will most likely refuse to speak on principle. How sad." He touched her lightly, between her shoulder blades, and she shivered in response. "Perhaps you will speak in extensive, candid detail in your sleep."

She gave a breathless laugh. "We can hope."

He spread his hands out across her shoulder blades, pressing lightly, feeling her muscles, and she went limp. Her eyes fluttered closed. He knew what he was doing. His touch was firm, soothing, measured and hypnotic. "Zevran. You know this might send me to sleep."

"Oh, it will not. If you fall asleep, I will contrive of an exotic way to wake you. And I am _very _inventive. I would consider it wise to stay awake."

"But-"

"Hush. I have uses in mind for that mouth. You'd best let it rest."

She snapped her mouth shut, her cheeks flaming back to a vibrant red. His chuckle was throaty. "You bloom like a flower. It is a significant part of your charm."

He applied real pressure, the heels of his palms dragging upward from the middle of her back, and she made an involuntary noise of contentment.

"I would normally ask you about yourself. But, unfortunately, there is little to say. Do you remember nothing?" His voice was gentle, as if he knew he treaded on potentially distressing ground. Lily sighed. "Very little. Tiny things. Pieces of songs, peoples faces. I remember rows of perfume bottles and shelves and shelves of books. Beyond that…" She sighed. "I do not know. I think I remember more now than I did when I first woke up on the Coast. I'm hoping it will come back."

"It is a rare gift to be able to operate without regrets, guilt, tied back by nothing." He said, kneading into the flesh at the base of her neck. "I would strongly suggest you enjoy it while you can."

"I don't even know if Lily is _actually _my name." She said suddenly. "It's the first that came to mind, so I assume it must be, but what if it's actually a friend? Or my mother, or something?"

"What does it matter?" Zevran said. "Anders is not his real name. He has no idea what his real name is. Fenris was named thusly by his master. Hawke's _real _first name is Jakob. A name is nothing. And _I _happen to think if it is not your real name, it should be. You are as white and sweet as your namesake."

"You needn't flatter me, Zevran." She said, amused. "You're _on_ my bed, and I'm pretty much naked."

"You wound me. Perhaps I flatter for the simply joy of seeing your cheeks flush so charmingly."

"Perhaps – you should tell me about this group? Is there anything important I need to know?"

"Oh, why not? I'll admit I came in rather late as well. Most of this I got from Hawke. Lets see. Isabela and Hawke are an item, as you know. It's a rather open arrangement on her end, but he seems content with just her. She was the Captain of a ship that sank off the coast. She swam to shore. They ran into each other, and I believe she assailed him until he gave in. It was all very charming. Anders was a Grey Warden. He left and took refuge during the blight, healing other refugees. He's a decent man. I saw him once without a shirt and the memory stills my heart every time."

She gave a little surprised giggle. "So you – like men? As well."

"Yes, Princess. Does that concern you?"

"Should it?"

"I have no idea what environment you have come from. Some are lenient, some are not. I am glad it doesn't worry you. It leaves us open to all kinds of opportunities."

"Are you – half women, half men? How does it work?"

"I wouldn't say it "works" quite in the way you mean, sweet thing." He said, amused. "I would say I find myself in women's beds more often than mens, but – what can I say. I try to experience most things."

"Right." She thought about that. "I – I'm _fairly _sure I've never been with a woman. But I don't know, really."

"We could fairly easily find out."

"Maybe later." She said.

He chuckled. "And you _admit _to considering later encounters with my humble self. I am quivering in anticipation."

"Who said _you'd _be there?"

There was a burst of delighted laughter. "_You, _my princess, are easily the best thing to happen to me for at _least _a week."

'A _week_?" She looked back over her shoulder, half twisting her shoulders to do so. "Only a week?"

He smirked at her. "Well. A fortnight, then."

"You are shameful." He pressed a hand to her skin, easing her back down flat. He slid up to the base of her neck and gently kneaded her there, drawing a soft moan from her lips. She went limp, placid and quiescent under his touch. His hands were firmer, unwinding all tension of the past two days, smoothing down muscles she didn't even know were knotted. "Zevran." She said softly.

"My princess?"

"You are wonderful."

"I know." He touched the side of her face with his knuckles, a featherlight caress. "Relax. Let me tend to you."

She closed her eyes, soothed and lulled by the soft sound of the fire, the warmth of his hands. She didn't realize she'd fallen asleep until she felt his hot breath on the side of her face, felt a tongue curl around her earlobe. She jumped into wakefulness, heart hammering. "I wasn't asleep! I wasn't!" His chuckle was low, throaty, a fraction from her ear. "Is that so, Princess? So you heard me detail _none _of the depraved and decadent things I had in store if you dared to fall asleep, hmm?"

"I guess not."

"A pity. Roll over."

"…What?"

"If I repeat myself, Princess, I will be forced to get inventive." His slippery hand slid down her side, trailing down to the silk over her hips. "I will let you keep this, for now. And only because I want to give you my full attention when I take it off you."

His weight was off her, and she tentatively shifted, rolling over within the confines of his hands on the bedspread. She covered her breasts with one arm, suddenly shy under his eyes. The way he looked at her was openly sexual, drinking in every inch of her. He wet his lips. She swallowed. He sat back, angling himself back up to sit back on his heels, straddling her thighs. He reached for the pot again, smoothing the white balm over his hands and kneading them together. "You know," he said idly, "this _really _is a wonderful creation. It tastes like oranges, too."

She gave him an incredulous look. He smiled. "You doubt me? Brave of you." He reached out an oiled hand and touched her mouth, and she responded unthinkingly, letting him push past her lips and trail his fingers over her tongue. She closed her lips around him, lightly sucking, curling her tongue around his fingers. He explored her mouth, sliding a third finger in, his eyes drifting closed as she took him deeper, feeling his fingertips on the back of her tongue. He leaned in closer, silent for once, watching her, before pulling his hand back. He looked pained. "You, Princess," He said, his voice strained, "test my resolve."

"Your resolve? What are you resolving to do?"

"Or not to do, as the case may be. On account of the odd circumstances, I've promised to restrain myself from doing – certain things. I don't want you to wake up in the morning and hate me." He touched her lips with wet fingers. "But right now all I can think about is how that mouth might feel on my body." He made a soft noise of pain, shaking his head and resolutely looking away. She shifted onto her elbow. "Why would you – not want me to do that?"

"You are a touch drunk and have been ingesting foreign substances, I suspect? I'm erring on the side of caution. I will not ruin something special because I can't control myself."

She reached out a hand and touched his hip, her fingers brushing his skin. "I wouldn't mind." She said, suddenly shy. "I mean – I'd like to."  
>He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "Hush. <em>Silence. <em>Don't say such things to me. I will weep."

"But-"

"_Lily. _Not another word." He dropped forward onto his elbow, his chest on her stomach, hooking one hand over her wrist and prising her arm away from her chest. "I'm going to need some rather serious distraction." He smoothed his oiled hand across her ribs, brushing the lower curves of her breasts, looking down at her. "You know? I've seen a lot of breasts in my life, pet."

"This seems like an odd time to tell me."

"You need to be aware that I consider myself an expert. _These _are especially lovely." He closed his hand over one, smoothing warm oil over her, grazing her nipple with the edge of a thumbnail. Her breath caught, and his eyes flicked up to hers, warmth and desire on his face. "Your breath catches like that, and I feel it all the way down my spine. It _may _become your trademark. I shall have to investigate it more." He held her eyes, lowering his head until he brushed his lips over her other nipple. She reflexively tensed, underneath him, and he slid his hand down to her hip, tracing circles on the skin just under the silk. She closed her eyes when he took her nipple into his mouth, holding it with his teeth and teasing it with his tongue. She could feel the last dregs of those drugs stirring in her blood, making her head spin, sending her skin prickling with longing. She touched his hair, encouraging, sliding her fingers down his neck and onto the warm, smooth skin of his back. He made a little noise of pleasure, the sound thrumming into her breast, and she gasped, digging her nails into him. The hand on her hip twisted, catching the silk between them and sliding it free, dropping her gown off the side of the bed. He settled his weight properly over her hips, grinding into her gently as his teeth grazed over her. She arched her back, leaning up and into him. He slid a free hand under the space at the small of her back, squeezing her, trailing slow fingers up her side. She was nightmarishly ticklish, and she squirmed. He nuzzled into her breasts, lightly nipping at the skin between them, shifting lower onto the surface of her stomach. He licked her, in a long line from her navel to the base of her throat, and paused above her, eyes level with hers, before surprising her by pressing a hand to the side of her throat and leaning down to kiss her.

She hadn't been expecting it, since he hadn't kissed her earlier. She'd started to console herself that maybe both he and Fenris had some type of elf-related aversion to kissing someone you were not deeply attached to. His kiss, when it came, was deep, hot, searching, his tongue tracing the roof of her mouth as he cradled her face. She lost herself in him, her need for this man overwhelming, throbbing in the pit of her stomach, and she hungrily kissed him back. His fingers found the back of her thigh, pulling her knee upwards, settling himself between her legs. She could feel him, hard as rock, against her skin, and a moment of fear seized her. She broke the kiss, one hand curled around his upper arm, and he looked down at her, assessing her, seeming to understand. He stroked her face. "I'm not going to hurt you, sweet thing."

She swallowed, "I know. I'm sorry. It's silly."

"It isn't. We are almost strangers." He brushed her lips with his, the light caress sending a spear of fire down her body. "I'm going to make this good for you. I promise."

She gave a breathless laugh. "You already _have._"

"You flatter me, but I've _barely _gotten started. You trust me, don't you, princess?"

"Yes." She said after a cautious moment.

He raised an eyebrow. "A definitive yes?"

"Yes."

"Then I am honored." He kissed her, quickly, a sudden invasion of teeth and tongue before pulling away, leaving her gasping. He pulled his weight onto his hands, backing down the bed, trailing kisses down her torso. His question about trust suddenly made sense. "Zevran –"

"Princess?" His hand was in her pubic hair, his fingers caressing her curls, and the stab of desire was so strong it hurt. "No. You can't."

"I most certainly can. Ask anyone."

"That's _not _what I mean." She angled up onto her elbows. "Don't. I'm not – ready for that."

"I beg to differ. Your body is _extremely _ready for this."

"_Stop that. _You know what I mean." She swallowed, and he folded his arms across her thighs, eyes narrowed, a look of questioning on his face. "Is this – a religious preference? A concern about my race as opposed to yours? Shyness?"

"No – well, maybe a bit of the last one. I just – that's _really _intimate."

"More so than making love?"

"I think so. It requires more trust, I think."

"But you _do _trust me." He raised an eyebrow. "And more to the point, you could _not _be so cruel. Do you know how long I've been daydreaming about this?"

"A _day_?"

"A _whole _day. Don't deny me. I will go mad with desire."

She went bright red. "I – I just-"

He pressed his lips to the soft surface of her belly, lightly. "Has anyone ever done this for you before?"

"I don't know."

"I _hope _not. Me being your first would thrill me." He gave her a measured look. "A bargain then. Let me convince you, in thirty seconds, that you should let me have my dastardly way with you."

"How is that a bargain?"

"Princess. Please. I am more proud of this particular ability than I am of all my others combined. Take this off me and I am without a _huge _part of my weaponry." He blinked, as if a thought had just struck him. "You mean _neither _Fenris nor Anders tried to do this for you?"

She went even redder. "Zevran!"

"They should be slapped. The offer should have at _least _been made."

"Can we _please _not talk about Anders and Fenris right now?"

"You are restive. I understand. Allow me to move this along for you." He dropped his head, firmly curling a hand over and around one hip to anchor her, before biting lightly into the skin inside her thigh. She froze, heart thumping in her throat, petrified and throbbing with anticipation. He was gentle with her, although he held her in place with firm hands as he tasted the flesh of her thighs, tracing the line between thigh and torso with his tongue. He made soft noises of pleasure, and it sent small vibrations into her skin, making her tense and flinch under his questing mouth. He stroked the outside of her thigh with gentle fingers, soothing her, his obvious enjoyment settling some of her anxiety. She reached for him, hesitant, combing her fingers into his hair, closing her eyes and trying to relax and not impede his progress. She gave a little choked cry when his flicked his tongue over her clitoris, earning her a soft chuckle before he folded his lips around it, sucking at her. She trembled, her hands tightening in his hair, going hot and cold, an incredible pressure building through the core of her. She was panting, arching her back, flinching at every curl of his tongue. His fingers slithered inside her, and she gasped, loudly, his hands tightening on her as she reflexively recoiled a little. His touch was confident, assured, languid, echoing the slow caresses of his tongue.

She could feel her heart thudding in her throat, every nerve on fire, and as he slid his tongue inside her she convulsed, crying out his name, frantically trying to free herself from his grip as the sensation threatened to overwhelm her. He held on, pushing her past a blinding climax and onto the crest of a second one so violent she screamed, her head snapping back so sharply the muscles in her neck cramped and ached. He lifted his head, his fingers still inside her, and nipped at the skin below her belly button. He released his hold on her, shifting back, pushing one leg to the side and reaching to touch her hip. "Princess." He whispered, his voice husky and dark. "There's only one way I want to take you this evening. Indulge me."

She couldn't have resisted even if she'd wanted to, letting him roll her limp, throbbing body over onto her stomach, his hands lifting her hips and settling her weight onto her knees. She tried to lift her head, but he settled a hand on the space between her shoulders, pressing her face first into the bedspread. She was wet with his saliva and her own fluids, her muscles quivering in the aftershocks of her climax, and he slid against her with an ease that seemed surreal. She shuddered around him, her fingernails digging into the material under her as he eased his way in, steady but careful, mindful of her abused flesh. She could feel the strain in her muscles, the distant ache of overuse, but it was shrouded in a fog of post-orgasmic bliss, smoothed away by the warmth of his hands on her hips. His full length was inside her, and her muscles seized, shaking, a strangled moan coming from her. He stroked her skin, his voice soft and tense. "My princess?"

"I'm – I'm fine." Her voice sounded alien, choked and deep. He moved inside her, a slow, gentle rhythm, every thrust reverberating down her spine and crushing her deeper into the bed. His hands were damp, and she could hear his breathing grow jagged, catching in his throat as he sheathed himself inside her. He paused for a moment, evidently struggling for control, leaning over her to nose the hair at the back of her head. "You are perfect, princess." He breathed. "You feel like you were _made _for me."

She shivered, his lips catching her ear and tracing her earlobe. He resumed his rhythm, his mouth on the side of her throat, the shudder in his breathing making her own breath catch. "Harder." She whispered.

He paused. "Lily?"

"I can take it harder. Please."

She felt him tense all down her back. "Beg me, Princess."

He gave the slightest twitch of his hips, and she flinched, shivering. "Please. Zevran. Fuck me. Harder. _Please._"

His fingers tightened on her skin, and he straightened up to give him balance, his spare hand pressing into her back, sliding down into her hair. "And if I fuck you as hard as you want me to, Princess, what do I get in return?"

She could feel pressure building inside her again, his words making her involuntarily gasp. "Anything. Whatever you want."

"Do I get to fuck you again? Will you take me into your mouth?"

"Yes."

"If I want you to kneel before me and beg me, will you?"  
>"Yes – oh god – anything. Please."<p>

There was a soft rumble of pleasure from him, and he slid a hand underneath her to caress her painfully sensitive clitoris. She cried out, flinching away from the touch, and he chose that moment to thrust into her, slamming his hips into her, and the spear of pleasure that raced through her was agonizingly intense, as if she might explode. She writhed underneath him as he fucked her, hard, the slap of flesh on flesh all she could hear above the storm outside. Every thrust built inside her, and when the final climax hit, she spasmed, clawing at the bedspread and crying out his name. He groaned when he finally came, convulsing inside her, slowing to individual hard thrusts as he emptied himself into her. He collapsed to one side, his hand on her hip pulling her onto the bed beside him, and they lay entwined, saturated and limp, for long, still moments. The fire had died down substantially, the shadows of the room curling over everything. The gold of his body was a soft brush of color in the darkness. His face was in her hair, his warm breath slowing and steadying. He curled an arm around her waist, gently pulling her back into the circle of his arms. He nuzzled the skin behind her ear. "May I beg a favor of you, sweet thing?"

His voice was deep, and relaxed, already half asleep. She was foggy and dazed, exhausted but still thrumming from the sensation of him inside her. "Yes?"

"Let me sleep at your side, tonight."

It was a practical concern. Considering how limply he was draped over her, he was at least a fraction as tired as she was. "Of course."

He gave a deep sigh, pressing a light kiss onto the side of her neck. "Thank you."

Her eyes were already drifting closed when he lightly touched the side of her face. "As good an idea as that is, why don't we get under the covers before that fire goes out, hmm?"

That was wise. The chill was starting to set in around her toes, and she'd be freezing before long. "You're right." She propped herself up onto a shaking elbow, her head immediately spinning. "I feel – shattered."

"I can imagine." He said mildly, the soft warmth of amusement in his voice. "And whilst I haven't been entertaining gentlemen all evening, I _did _somewhat wear myself out in the process of rescuing a certain beautiful young lady in chains."

She was amazed she had any blush left in her. "Oh. Thank you for that."

"With rewards such as this? _Any_time." He pulled away from her, and she heard the soft rustle of blankets and furs as he shifted around the bedding behind her. He touched her hip. "Roll onto your back, Princess."

She did, angling over the wedge of blankets at her spine, and onto the soft cool sheets on the mattress. He settled himself beside her, pulling the blankets back over them and curling his long, warm body around hers, She shivered a little, dazed and cold, but basking in his care, the soft scent of oranges and sandalwood, and his long hand resting at the base of her throat. "Lily." He said softly into her hair.

"Zevran."

"Imagine what we could do with a _whole _evening to ourselves."

"Zevran – "

"Hush, now. We needn't think beyond this moment. We can talk in the morning, if that's what you want." He tilted her face back to her shoulder, kissing her, the distant taste of her body on his tongue. "Goodnight, my princess."

"Goodnight."

The storm lashed itself into a howling frenzy deeper into the night, and she woke, shaking with fright. The thunder was rattling the windows, and the rain was so harsh it felt like tapping fingers on the glass. She was trying to soothe her thudding heart when she felt him stir behind her, turning her to face him, cradling her in his arms. She willingly melted into his embrace, shivering, his hands on her back smoothing over her skin, calming her. She was halfway back to sleep when he slid his hand down her leg, folding her leg over his hip and sliding inside her, seeking her mouth with his. She was sore, and it wasn't as easy as the time before, but it felt necessary, soothing, ethereal and surreal in the flickering moonlight. He rolled onto his back, spilling her upright, straddling him. He held her hips, encouraging, guiding her as she rode him to a slow, silent climax. Her hands tightened on his chest, and he thrust up into her, the tension and arch of his back pushing his head back onto the pillows, his hair in a soft golden halo around him. He was beautiful, spread below her, and when he had spilled himself into her, breath shuddering, he eased her back to his side, embracing her, stroking her hair as they fell back into dreamless, exhausted sleep.


	9. Aftermath

She'd rolled onto her stomach at some point of the night, and awoke face down, Zevran's still, dead weight on her back a clear indication that she wasn't going to be able to move without waking him. It was quiet, the sound of horses, people and birds outside a clear sign that the storm was over and morning was upon them.

She was very sore, and not even just in an intimate way. Every muscle ached, and she was bewildered as to how she could have hurt so many of them. Reality hit home with such force that she closed her eyes again with the enormity of it. She was supposedly pregnant, now. She wondered how she hadn't completely freaked out over that yet. Or why she wasn't _now_, even. She realized that until this moment, with this man on her back and his smell on her skin, it hadn't felt real. She'd always been a breath away from waking, back in – wherever she was from. But she was still here, very sore, very much awake, her heart thudding and her stomach churning with queasy fear and stress. She made herself take deep breaths, slowing her heart, making herself think. It was okay. So she was going to have a baby. As far as she could tell, she was with friends, looked after. She didn't have a former life to mourn. And yes, she would have liked to have chosen who the father would be, but that was in someone else's hands now. She tried to imagine what a child she had with Fenris would look like, or Anders, or Zevran. It was a blur. A good portion of the previous night was, Fenris' brutal passion, Anders' gentle, human warmth, Zevrans practiced sensuality.

She needed a bath. And probably a good deal of alone time. She couldn't fathom facing anyone today. Even the men of the previous night – in the cold light of morning she didn't know what she would say to Zevran, how he'd behave towards her. Surely most of the night before had been his standard behavior towards a woman he was having sex with? She could feel her own inexperience unsettling her, making her doubt herself. She wondered, not for the first time, how mush sexual experience she'd had before last night. Not much, surely. She was shy, uncertain about her body, but on the other hand, she _had _gone down on Fenris, and was relatively sure she'd done that before. Her face bloomed to life. She'd _voluntarily _done that. Having spoken four words to him, total. How could she possibly look him in the face? She remembered with a sickening lurch of horror the blood on her thighs, on _his _thighs. Oh, god. Yes, she was certainly going to avoid Fenris for a while. Anders was a softer, gentler memory, and she felt herself relax into the recollection of the feel of his chest hair, his stubble, his eager, heartfelt kisses. No, Anders had been lovely. He'd make a good father, she thought. She wondered if humans and humans procreated more or less easily than human/elf pairings. She also wondered how long she'd have before she knew for certain if she _was _pregnant. She knew next to nothing about pregnancy. At least Anders would know. That said, she wondered where she could get some books on the subject. There were things she'd rather learn for herself, and she mightn't have much to do otherwise.

There were footsteps outside, and a very soft tap on the door. Zevran tensed, immediately awake. The voice beyond the door was Hawkes. "No rush, Zev, but I'm going to need you downstairs soonish."

Zevran made a soft noise of assent, and Hawke's footsteps faded away, evidently satisfied. He sighed sadly into her back. "A rude awakening. I am sorry."

"That's okay." She shifted gingerly, her muscles protesting. "I was already awake."

"See, in the future, you should just shove me. You'll be able to lie comfortably without some oaf lying on you." He shifted off her, pulling her onto her back beside him. She stifled the wince of pain, but he was sharp, regardless of how tousled his hair was. "Oh, pet. You must be feeling it this morning."

"I am."

"You need a long bath. Which I _was _looking forward to having with you." He propped himself up onto an elbow, not touching her, his eyes giving away nothing. "Hopefully another time."  
>"Perhaps."<p>

"You seem uncomfortable."

"And you aren't joking around."

"It seems inappropriate when you look so out of your depth. Don't wake up besides strange men all that often, then?"

"I suppose not." She folded an arm across her chest, holding the blankets to her. "I'm not sure – how to behave. It's not even really a once off thing, is it? It could result in a baby."

His face was sober, and he nodded once. "Is that such a terrible thing?"

"You aren't the one who has to give birth to it." She snapped, and immediately felt bad. "I'm sorry."

"I don't offend easily." He lightly stroked the side of her face with his knuckles. "Bear in mind that other arrangements can be made if you find you give birth and have no attachment to the child. You are not tied to being a mother eternally."

"I – I'd have to at least _try."_ She shook her head, clearing it. "The idea of being a father doesn't worry you."

"No. I always thought I would be, at _some _point. If it is with a creature as lovely as you? All the better. I know we have all been – pushed into this, but do try and look at the positives. You are with good people. We will help you all we can. The child surely cannot help but be unbelievably attractive." He thought for a moment, dark eyes contemplative. "And I promise you, I won't let harm come to you. Whether you carry my child or no."

She looked up at him, golden and beautiful in the morning light. "Thank you, Zevran."

"Thank _you, _Princess." He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, sensing her tension and discomfort. "I must leave you. Duty calls. I suspect you might be grateful for a chance to be alone."

"Yes. Probably."

He gave her an odd look, amusement with a touch of regret. "Yes, well. I won't intrude on you any longer than I have to." He rolled over, sliding out of bed to walk naked around to where he'd left the majority of his clothes. She hadn't seen all of his tattoos clearly before then, and she was mesmerized by how they shifted over the muscle. He looked like the statue of a god, the V-shaped wedge of muscle low over his abdomen heartbreakingly perfect. She looked away, the stab of emotion in her gut disturbing. He was pulling his tunic over his head when she looked back, smoothing his hair with a long hand. He padded back to the side of the bed, hesitating before sitting on the edge. "You're disturbed." He said. She opened her mouth to deny it, stopped by the look of uncommon seriousness on his face. She swallowed.

"This is all a lot to take in."

"I hope you will not hate us for it before the sun goes down." He said soberly. "When you soulsearch today, try and remember that we are all as powerless as you." He stood, moving away from the bed. "I will see you later, Princess."

She folded her arms over her chest, suddenly cold. "Stay safe, Zevran."

Anders had been dreading Zevran's entrance into the parlor, imagining some kind of gruesome spectacle where he'd smugly saunter in, wink at Hawke, stretch out on the sofa and generally act like a pig. When Zev did appear, Anders was startled – and a little concerned – when he seemed quiet, subdued. And a good deal less impeccably groomed than he usually was. Anders was very conscious of Hawke's eyes on the pair of them, or else he would have gone straight to the other man and asked what his problem was. Aveline was aware of the situation – Hawke had explained it to her – but she was also so focused on the task at hand that she had no interest in what had or hadn't transpired. "Oh, finally. I was wondering when you were going to emerge." The Captain hooked a gauntlet into her belt, flicking her green eyes around the group to ensure she had everyone's attention. "Right. We have a smuggling ring operating out of the western edge of Sundermount. I'd like the break into smaller groups and come in from a few sides."

Hawke nodded. "I'm going to take Merrill and Isabela. Aveline, you can have Varric and Anders. Zevran, I was going to give you Bethany, but to be honest that makes me nervous."

There was a chuckle from Varric and Zevran managed a smirk. Aveline was considering the group, eyes narrow. "A slight reshuffle, then. I'll take Bethany. Anders, you can have Zevran."

Anders sighed. This might be awkward. "Sounds fine."

Merrill was watching Zevran and Anders with unsettling intensity. "No Fenris?" She asked, her soft voice curious. "Isn't he well?"

There was a moment of silence, and Hawke flicked a quick look across at Anders and Zevran. "No. He's occupied today. We'll do without."

"It'll be a far sunnier trip, then." Varric said drily. We should have a picnic before we come back."

"Be nice." Hawke said mildly. "Let's try and make this quick and clean, shall we?"

"With maximum casualties." Isabela said happily, cracking her knuckles. "I've been itching for some bloodshed all morning."

Lily emerged from her bath very carefully, toweling herself off gingerly and limping back to her lounge room lacing her dress closed in front of her. She found her bedroom had been tidied in her absence, her small collection of gifts set by the lounge chair, the fire built up. She bounced back in fright a little when a dark haired, ferociously bearded dwarf emerged from the linen cupboard. He blinked at her. "Good morning, mam! A pleasure to meet you. You would have met my son, Sandal, I expect."

She relaxed. She knew about Bodahn in theory, at least. "Ah – yes. He's been very helpful. And you must be Bodahn."

"Right and correct, mam. We're to see to your comfort. The master and mistress are out at the moment, and you're free to have a look around as you see fit. The Master has asked me to remind you not to leave the premises, however. It's a dangerous city."

"I'd gathered that." She wasn't going to make that mistake again. "Is – anyone home?"

"Just meself, yourself, my son and Orana the maid, at the current time. Business calls away the others."

"Oh – right." She was relieved. She didn't want to face anyone, for a while at least. She hoped the limp would have settled a little by the time she got back. "Bodahn – if you don't mind – is there somewhere I could get something to eat?"

He looked horrified. "Mam! I apologize. We were planning on having your breakfast here when you awoke, but the Master forbade it. Sandal should be bringing it up in a moment."

"Oh – right." She was rather glad that Hawke had decided to keep the dwarves out of her bedroom until Zevran had left. "Thank you."

"Not at all, Mam. If you need anything, you can ask meself or Orana. Sandal is a good lad, but he's not really a talker." He turned to leave. "There's some warmer things in the cupboards, Mam. Warm in here, but the rest of the house has higher ceilings."

"Thank you, Bodahn."

He gave a polite nod, toddling out. She turned her attention back to the book, the knife, and the silver pot on the table – the only things she felt comfortable handling. She picked up the knife, rolling up a sleeve and attempting to strap it to her arm. It was difficult one handed, and she had to sit down and wedge the sheath between her arm and thigh to anchor it as she played with the straps. She stood again, flexing her wrist as it shifted into a more comfortable position. It felt good. The pommel of the blade sat against the inside of her wrist, cool and heavy. She smoothed her sleeve back down as Sandal barreled in the door, happily carrying a tray of food. "Enchantment!" He told her chirpily, and she sighed. "Yes, thank you, Sandal. Just over there is fine."

Zevran and Anders had spent the majority of the rocky, cold trip up the side of the Sundermount in silence, and it frustrated Anders to the point where he made a noise of irritation, and turned on Zevran. "Zev. It's _completely _uncharacteristic for you to be so quiet."

Zevran raised an eyebrow. "You seem tense, friend."

"I _am_! I'm worried."

"Not about _my _wellbeing, obviously." He gave a deep sigh. "I left her awake, sober, and as far as I could tell, with the cold reality of her situation sinking in. She is otherwise well."

"Oh." Anders was relieved, but cautious. "So – it went okay, then."

Zevran smiled, properly, amused. "Are you _really _asking about how my night of debauchery went? I warn you, if we discuss it, you will have to reciprocate."

"Ah – no. I don't really need to know. Sorry."

"Come, friend. What's really concerning you? You've been as spiky as a hedgehog all morning."

"I just – I feel bad for her."

"Why, did you give her reason to?"

"Did I – Zevran!"

"What? It went well, didn't it?"

Anders glared at him, mortified that he could feel his face reddening. "Not that it's any of your business, but – yes."

"Then what concerns you?"

"You know she took swampbloom before Fenris, right?"

Zevran nodded idly. "I could taste it. So it would have kicked in whilst you were there, then."

"I assume so. I worry about how much was her, and how much was the drugs."

"Ooh. You have feelings for our princess."

Anders looked away, irritated. "I _didn't _say that. I just take sex more seriously than _some _people, that's all."

"You make some very broad assumptions about me, friend." Zevran said mildly. "May I suggest spending some time with her before you come to any conclusions?"

"That's obvious. What I wondered was – how do _you _feel? Is this going to be something that becomes a problem later?"

Zevran considered, eyes narrow. "_I _am not the problem at hand, Anders. If she decided she wants something more tying with one of us, then it is up to him to decide how to proceed. I am not going to turn into a monster if that man is not me." He raised an eyebrow. "I am curious. Are you planning on having this conversation with Fenris? May I watch?"

Anders shrugged that off. "I don'tthink Fenris wants anything to do with her. I'm not concerned."

Zevran looked speculative. "I think you may be overlooking things. Least of all _her. _She is an active part of this, remember." He looked away, down behind them. "Hawke's coming around east. We'd best speed up."


	10. First Enchanter

Lily found books in the lower reaches of the Hawke Estate. _Shelves _of them. They had been neatly and regularly dusted, but by the way they creaked and crackled when she opened them, Hawke and his associates were not big readers. After some indecision, she extracted three from the shelves and made her slow way back up the stairs, making a note to let Hawke know she was borrowing his things. She could hear voices in the front room, and drifted closer out of curiosity.

"I'm _so _sorry Messire, but the Master is away at the moment-"

"Is he expected back this afternoon?" The voice was cultured, on the deeper end of the scale, and pleasantly civil.

"He is, Messire, but –"

"Then I will wait."

"But Messire-"

"Calm yourself, Messire dwarf. I don't require anything of you. I will stay in your parlor."

She could feel Bodahn's distress at having what sounded to be an important visitor with no residents of the house to greet him. Feeling relatively confident she might regret it, she cleared her throat, smoothed her dress down and clutched her books for security. She came around the corner trying to personify a confidence and calm she didn't have. Bodahn visibly sagged with relief. "Oh, Mam, I didn't know you were around."

The visitor was tall, robed in blacks and red edged with gold, an incredible black staff with a trio of dragon heads strapped to his back. He was gloved, his hands folded politely in front of him, standing regal and straight on the rich carpet of the parlor. He was an elf, very nearly as tall as Zevran, but far more slender. His hair was a very dark grey, but his face was high cheekboned and unlined. It was – strange. She made a note to ask someone about how elves aged. This one could have been anything from thirty to seventy. He had a grace and self awareness that was simultaneously impressive and a touch intimidating. He gave her a gracious nod. "One of Hawke's newest companions, I assume? The man gathers followers like a mother hen."

Lily smiled, mimicking his nod. "You could say that. My name is Lily. I apologize, I don't know when Hawke will be back."

Bodahn was watching the elf warily. "And this, mam, is-"

"Orsino. A pleasure." He unfolded one of his hands, offering it. The glove had a thumb and finger cut away, which struck her as odd before realizing it must be for writing. His grip was firm and polite, neither needlessly strong or lingering. "The matter is urgent, else I would ask him to visit me when he has a moment."

She looked to Bodahn, who was looking to her for guidance. "We will move through to the lounge, Bodahn. It's far warmer there."

"Of course, mam." He was relieved, turning to leave. "I'll bring up refreshments."

"Thank you for your hospitality, Serah." Orsino said, and she hesitantly extended an arm beside her to gesture through to the lounge. He gave her a nod of acknowledgement, sweeping past her to the fireplace. He smelt like books and high quality linen. It was pleasant. He set his staff by the fireplace, and stood patiently as she chose a seat on the long chair –not too far away, not too close – sitting once she had settled herself. His eyes were sharp, and she was distinctly aware of how every gesture she made was being catalogued away somewhere. "Is it rude of me to enquire as to why you've come?"

"No. But I am unable to tell you. It is delicate."

"Of course." She was suddenly very aware that she had nothing to talk to this man about. She didn't even know her surroundings well enough to be able to make light conversation. His fingers were laced in his lap, green eyes fixed on her. "If you will indulge my curiosity – there is a set to your face and your voice that I can't place. Where are you from?"

She floundered, trying to figure out how much to tell him. "I don't know." She said finally. "I'm apparently suffering from a fairly involved case of amnesia."

"How strange."

"Ah – yes. It's been an interesting few days."

"You have not been with Hawke long."

"No. Not at all. Three days now."

"And yet he takes you into his home?" His brow furrowed, then smoothed. "No. It is none of my business. Hawke obviously has his own ways of operating."

"That's true. I think my having no previous history or allegiances gives him a degree of security."

"I suppose it would." Orsino was thinking. "Then – you do not know Kirkwall well."

"All I've gathered is that it's full of slavers."

"Ha. Yes, Unfortunately. It does have more redeeming features, luckily."

"You have lived here long?"

"Since I was a young boy, yes. I was taken by the Circle as an infant."

"The – Circle?"

Orsino's expression was taken aback, and then intrigued. "You haven't even heard of the Circle of Magi?"

"Should I have?"

"The Templars? The Chantry? Meredith?"

"I'm sorry."

"You don't recognize my name, then."

"I didn't. I apologize if I'm not addressing you as you should be."

"That's the least of my concern. And it likely explains how polite and accommodating you have been." There was a slightly bitter twist to his smile. "What a unique situation for you. To come into this situation with none of the prejudices that usually infect us all from childhood."

She was wary. He was important, she'd gathered _that _much. "I'm learning. Slowly. There's a lot to take in."

"Of that I have no doubt." He looked down at the books she held. "You appear to be proactive about such things, anyhow."

"I am in Hawke's debt, with nothing to really repay his kindness. All I can really do at this stage is try and understand what I've fallen into."

"We have time." He offered. "I would be happy to answer any questions. He tilted his head. "And how did you come into his care?"

"He rescued me from slavers. I woke with very little memory."

"You are lucky. Your injuries are not too severe?"  
>Ah. He'd noticed the limp. She thought he might have. She hoped against hope she wasn't blushing. "No. I'm healing well. They've been looking after me."<p>

Orsino nodded. "You refer to the apostate healer?"

"The – what?"

"Anders." He said patiently. "Apostate is a mage who operates outside the Circle of Magi. It's also illegal. Anders is shielded by his connection with Hawke. He would be welcome in the Circle, of course, but he has philosophical differences with the more restrictive aspects of such a life. I have heard that he is very skilled."

"He is." She had a sudden, hot flash of the night before, and she looked away to cover her warm face. "He's been very good to me."

"You are lucky to have fallen into such good company. Ask Hawke to talk to you about the Qunari uprising. Providing you don't hear it from the minstrels in the marketplace."

Bodahn came back in, balancing a precarious tray, and setting it close to Lily. "I hope it will suffice, milord, mam. Please call if you require anything else."

"Thank you, Bodahn." She was unsure if he was supposed to pour the tea for them or if he was in a hurry to leave and forgot, but she occupied herself with the teapot, steadfastly not looking at him. Orsino evidently wasn't ready to leave his line of questioning. "The Circle of Magi is a contained community of mages. It is the legal obligation for all Mages to submit to their care. It is something of a cage, but it can be a very rewarding, providing the mages have a decent working relationship with the Templars who act as their carers."

"Templars?"

"I have four waiting outside." He said drily. "I could parade them around for you, if you wished. They are the military arm of the Chantry. It is their responsibility to keep the populace safe from the dangers of magic." He looking into the fire, bitterness in his face.

"I take it then that the relationship isn't a working one here?"

"You would be right. Their leader is a woman called Meredith, who has a very thinly veiled death wish for us all." She poured him tea, realized he was sitting too far away for her to hand it to him, and stood to bring it over. He accepted it with murmured thanks. She sat back down, picking up her own teacup. "You – are a mage, then?"

He inclined his head. "I am."

She nodded towards the staff by the fireplace. "_That _is beautiful."

"Thank you. It belonged to my predecessor. It's rather ominously called the Staff of Violation." He set his teacup back into its saucer with a soft click. "You know, the Circle has the largest library in the Free Marches. Perhaps we could find something there to address your amnesia." He hesitated. "There are more – arcane – ways to access the information locked in your head, but I would suggest talking to Hawke before considering such a thing. I'd be happy to offer my services, but I suspect your carer wouldn't thank me for giving the decision to a young lady who doesn't understand what that could be construed as by Hawke's opposers."

She looked down at her pile of books. "I appreciate that. I will – talk to him."

"Please do. If you ask for me at the Circle you will be admitted." He was looking at her books again, evaluating. "May I see what you are reading?"

"Oh-" She set her teacup aside, carrying the three across to him. "I haven't started. I only just found them."

He took the off her, a very slight grimace on his face suggesting she might have chosen poorly. "_The Chant of Light _is a religious text. You should be forewarned."

"I figured. But it seemed important."

"It is. But it is worth keeping in mind that it is written by mortals and not the Prophet. Often with centuries dividing them." He set it at the bottom of the pile. "This is worthwhile. And a decent edition. Have you seen the _Codex of Ferelden_ before?"

"I – may have."

"I keep forgetting. I apologize." He looked at the third, blinking in surprise. "This is – an interesting choice."

"I didn't really look at it. I was intrigued as to what a book written by a "Comtesse De La Rosa" would be like."

"Scandalous. This is a rather popular book, if memory serves. We confiscate it from numerous acolytes each week." He gave her the books back. "I'd be curious to know what your responses to these are. As someone so untainted by previous history."

There was clattering in the parlor, the sound of Bodahn hustling down the stairs behind her. It sounded as if Hawke was home. Lily was suddenly confronted with the concept of seeing them – all of them – at once. For the first time since the night before. It was impossible for her to flee at this stage, even if she could have moved fast enough. "It sounds as if they are home."

"Covered in blood and having done things we are best not knowing about, most likely." Orsino sighed, standing and reaching for his staff. "For what it's worth, Lily, I'm glad to have met you. Seek me out if you do decided to accept my invitation."

"I will. I appreciate it." She stood, taking his teacup off him and setting it back on the table. Hawke chose that moment to thump in, followed by Isabela and Merrill. He went still, seeing Orsino and Lily by his fire. "First Enchanter." He said cautiously. "I wasn't expecting you."

Orsino inclined his head. "I didn't warn you. I chose to wait for your return."

"You have made yourself comfortable, it seems." Hawke was distinctly wary. Lily looked between the two men, trying hard to decide what the relationship was, if any. She had the distinct feeling she should not have been so open with the man standing beside her. Orsino's eyes flicked back to her. "Your – ward has been very accommodating. I certainly hope I haven't disturbed your household with my unannounced visit."

"I would appreciate a warning, if you would be so kind." Hawke was watching Lily carefully, and she looked awkwardly away. "As you can imagine, a group of templars outside my front door is a concern for me."

"If we may talk somewhere privately, I will be on my way." Orsino said, his voice clipped. "I am not looking to cause you any undue strain."

"Through here, then." Hawke gestured to a room at the side. "I'd _really _like to have your templars gone by the time the rest of my companions arrive."

Lily realized that their exit would leave her with Isabela and Merrill, and she wasn't really ready to talk to Isabela yet. Especially about the things she was going to _want _to talk about. She cradled her books, heading for the staircase, using Isabela and Merrills careful silence in Orsino's presence to mask her escape upstairs.


	11. Flemeth

No one sought her out for the rest of the afternoon, to her immense relief. She sensed Hawke had a hand in it. She barely knew him, but he seemed to have the most un-sentimental, practical view of the odd turn their lives had all taken, and she was grateful. She had been feeling like she had no time to herself, no time to sit and adjust and try to take stock of her situation. Orsino had given her a lot to think about, and she sat quiet and contemplative in front of the fire for long hours with her books, blocking out the sounds of conversation and laughter downstairs. When the sunlight started fading and she began to hear the distant, distinct sounds of the kitchen getting prepared for dinner, she started worrying about the inevitable confrontation with the rest of the group. She was dreading the knock on the door, and was almost relieved when it finally came.

"It's Hawke." She exhaled.

"Got a moment?"

She started to get up, winced in pain, and gave up. "Come in."

Hawke came in quietly, his bearded face freshly clean, having changed out of all that obscene plate armor. He looked infinitely friendlier. He shut the door behind him. "Seemed like a good time to have a quick talk. You would have gathered that it was a bit of a – surprise – to find Orsino in my house."

"I shouldn't have talked to him, should I?"

"Oh no. Look, it's more complicated than that." He sat in the furthest chair, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. "Kirkwall lost its ruling Viscount in an attempted Qunari takeover a year ago. Ever since then, the Knight Commander, who runs the Templars, has been effectively ruling the city. Orsino represents the mages, and is all that stands between her and the wholesale slaughter of the Circle." He sighed. "As such, he has enemies. Huge amounts. And associating with him, therefore, can be dangerous." He grimaced. "I hate to say this, because for the most part Orsino is a decent, intelligent man. But he's also frequently a desperate man. And one in an intolerable position. Do you follow?"

She nodded, carefully. "It's his situation, not him himself."

"Exactly. And that's worth remembering. If information he gets from you benefits his cause or his people, he will use it. And on _that _note – will you tell me what he learned from you?"

She winced. "It was mostly about _me. _He recognized that I wasn't from here, and asked about my origins."

"What did you tell him?"

"The truth. He was perplexed as to why you'd take such a stranger into your house."

Hawke scratched his chin. "Did he talk about any of the others?"

"Anders, briefly. But only said what he knew of him, didn't ask questions. And –" Lily tried to anticipate Hawke's reaction. "He invited me to the circle. To visit the library."

Hawke stared at her, confused. "_Why_?"

"To help looking into the amnesia. He offered to assist me magically, but said I should talk to you about that first."

"He's right." Hawke considered. "There's – issues involved. With tampering with a person's mind. It can go _very _badly. And we can't disregard the possibility that your amnesia may have a purpose."

She stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"I know it's been a shock, but you've coped with all this very – _very – _well. Do you think you'd be dealing so well if you'd been wrenched out of a world and family who you knew were missing you? I'd imagine it'd be traumatic."

She was cold. "I suppose that's true."

"Think about it. The decision is ultimately yours. Fenris can tell you _all _about how badly lost memories returning can damage things." He froze, then winced. "Look. I respect your privacy and all, but I _do _need to know if I need to haul Fenris through the coals after last night."

She went immediately red. "You – heard."

"Well – maybe a little, but I was referring to the fact he came downstairs with your blood all over his hands. We very nearly had an incident with the others." He sighed, scratching his head. "I'm reserving judgment until I hear it from you. I've talked to Anders – no, don't be angry at him, he has to report injuries to me – and he has a _very _wronged-damsel attitude towards it. I'm aware things can be more complicated than that. And I know Fenris. He's not a rapist." Hawke gave her a measured look, and she was relieved to see no pity, sympathy or judgment on his face. He looked as if he were enquiring after a leg wound. It was reassuring. She took a deep breath. "I did get hurt, but it was – a bad decision on my part. It was an awkward process for both of us. At a certain point I suggested we just – push past that point." She looked away uncomfortably. "It was a _bad _idea. And I bled. It was my fault."

"But – he bit you."

"Oh. Um, yes. I think it was intended to distract me from the pain." She touched it self-consciously. "It worked."

He winced. "I'm sorry you had to go through this, Lily."

"It was a strange night, but I'm certainly not traumatized. Yet." She managed a smile.

Hawke nodded. "I'm relieved. I haven't seen Fenris today. I don't think he's going to emerge again until I go reassure him that he didn't tear you in half or something. He's his own worst enemy." He stood. "We're all downstairs having a drink. Why don't you come down?"

She wavered, unsure how best to refuse. "Look. I'm not really comfortable-"

"You've been in seclusion all day. You can't avoid us forever. And no one's going to be grotesque enough to _talk _about it in a group. Give us some credit."

She sighed. "I hope you're not expecting me to be a riveting conversationalist."

"All you have to do is _be _there. Let us do the rest. And if it helps, I think there are people who might be extremely relieved to see you emerge from your hiding place."

She hadn't really been thinking about Anders and Zevran. She felt a pang of guilt. "Okay." She got to her feet painfully, and he took her elbow with a flinch of sympathy. "I'm suddenly glad I forbade Isabela from telling any filthy jokes tonight."

She was endlessly grateful for Varrics immediate launch into the bawdiest, stupidest story she'd ever heard as soon as she appeared on the landing. Hawkes hand on her elbow was reassuring, and she was bonelessly relieved at how careful everyone seemed to be to not pay her too much attention. Zevran had his back to her, propped lazily up against the fireplace, those massive blades on his back glinting, and he looked back over his shoulder at her, giving her a soft smile and faint nod before looking back at Varric, and something in her stomach relaxed. She could feel Anders' eyes on the side of her head, and felt a sick moment of dread before looking across to him. He was sitting in the far corner of the lounge, hands knotted in front of him, an image of tense concern. He looked horrified, and she realized the limp probably looked worse than it felt. She gave him a hesitant smile, and he returned it, not looking that reassured. She made an executive decision, releasing Hawke's arm and moving towards Anders. He stood to meet her, eyes huge and full of worry. "Lily. Are you well?"

He held his hands in front of him, as if he wanted to touch her arm, come into her personal space. She was a little glad he wasn't giving in. "I am. Thank you for your concern." She could hear how stilted and awkward she sounded, and swallowed, reaching out to touch his sleeve. She was painfully conscious of everyone in the room pointedly ignoring them. "Will you sit with me? I've been taking it fairly easy and the stairs have winded me." It was an exaggeration, but he saw and understood the gesture, his face softening into a proper smile. He touched her elbow, the briefest brush of his fingertips. "I will. It's good to see you."

She sat beside him, her shoulder touching his, folding her hands in her lap, and she could feel the warm glow of his relief shining off him like the sun. She chanced a look sideways at Zevran, who had one hand curled over his mouth, eyes half lidded, his eyes met hers, and he gave her the slightest, almost imperceptible nod. She blinked, unsure how to interpret that. He was most certainly not piqued, or jealous, or even concerned. He looked infernally relaxed, even. She looked away, disconcerted. Varric was expansively wrapping up his story. As far as she could gather, it featured himself and a Varterral – she reminded herself to look that up – and Merrill was squealing with laughter, clapping and bouncing on her knees like a frog in a box. It was adorable. "You are so _good_!" She breathed, the squeak of giggles still in her throat. "Why doesn't anything like that ever happen to _me_?"

Varric rolled his eyes up to the roof. "It _did. _The Dalish mage? That's _you, _you daft wench."

"Me? I don't remember fireballs rising from the floor! Or the golden elven prince saving us from the roof collapse!"

"I believe the fireballs were originating from Anders, and the golden elven prince _may _be me. But I doubt the roof was _really _ready to collapse. It was just fun to see you all run." Zevran winked at Merrill, who had given herself hiccups. Lily decided she liked the elven girl. She was almost simple, but so delightful to be around it could be overlooked. Merrill laid twinkling eyes on Lily. "_All _his stories are like that. They're so far from the truth I get caught out and look like a big fool."

"You calling me a liar, Daisy?" Varric asked, arching one bushy eyebrow. She laughed, folding her hands around her knees. "Oooh, no. Never."

"I should hope not." Varric looked across at Lily. "And welcome downstairs, Miss. I've heard it's preferable to upstairs. Let me know. I don't believe I've ever been allowed up there."

"I'm not letting you go through my cupboards, Varric." Hawke said, amused. "You're enough of a stickybeak as it is."

Lily's eyes had drifted back to Merrill, sitting crosslegged on the fur rug, happily content and so small and pretty she looked like an odd, tattooed doll. Her eyes were strange, and Lily was unsure what was different about them. She was glazed, her focus wavering, flickering like a candleflame. She went still, suddenly, and Lily froze. She touched Anders' leg. "Merrill?" She asked cautiously. "Are you all right?"

Everyone went still, silence dropping over the room like a blanket. Merrill had started to shake, very subtly at first, and then violently, as if she was naked in a snowstorm. It was Varric who snapped out of it first. "Oh, Maker, not again-" He dropped to his knees, catching her as she flopped sideways before she hit the floor. Anders turned to Hawke, eyes panicked. "We need to get Lily out of here. Now."

Hawke shook his head shortly, eyes on Merrill. "No. If she has something to say, it will concern her."

Lily's heart was thudding. She realized she was about to see, first hand, the visitation of the witch who'd haunted her dreams, cast her into this mess, and quite possibly dragged her from _her _world into this one. Anders touched her hand, and she grasped it without hesitation. Merrill took a deep, shuddering breath, and Varric carefully extracted himself, laying her out on the fur and backing away. There was a silent moment, the only sound the horrible rattle of her breathing, and then her eyes snapped open. They were a horrible, reptilian yellow. She stood, slowly, as if she were suspended on wires and merely draped from horizontal to vertical, nothing so much as an elbow hitting the floor. She stood, perfect and self-possessed, somehow huger in feel and presence than the tiny form of Merrill. She sighed deeply, stretching. "Ah. _This _is a body I'll miss."

The voice was deep, an old woman's, with the husk and purr of hundreds of years. Hawke took a step closer, his arms folded. "This is _not _appreciated, Flemeth."

"Oh, dear boy. You know I act from necessity."

"You _deeply _disturb her."

"Regrettable, surely. But my options are limited. Your apostate has very little room left in his head for visitors." She laughed nastily, and Anders tensed next to her. Hawke making a noise of dismissal. "I want your word you will not visit us in this manner again."  
>"In time, Hawke, in time. I had to visit in person to make sure important things were carried out. I'm sure you can appreciate." The yellow eyes snapped across to Lily, and she felt all the blood drain from her face. "You. Stand."<p>

Anders grip on her tightened, and she had to clasp his arm with her other hand to get him to release her. She looked to Hawke, who gave her the slightest nod. Her feet were unsteady. She clenched her hands into her skirts, meeting her eyes. Merrill tilted her head, considering. "Hm. Lovely. I'm going to make a wild assumption, based on those bite marks and that nasty limp, that you boys enjoyed yourselves." She inspected her nails as Lily felt increasingly sicker. She swallowed.

"Do you have something to say to me?"

Flemeth considered her. "To the point. I appreciate that. Don't think I have no consideration for what this costs you. I have done something similar myself. As has my daughter. As will hers after her. It is a divine task, something worthy of a fine mind and healthy body. I'm going to assume you have both. It is a little hard to tell when you are as stunned and mangled as you are." She took a step forward, too fast for Lily to reflexively step back, and spread a hand onto her stomach. She could feel the cold of it burn through her clothes, and she gasped. There was a shuffle of movement behind her, and she wasn't brave enough to look behind her and see who'd tried to intervene. Merrills face was drawn, concentrating, incredulity, confusion, then finally amusement spreading across her delicate features. She let out a peal of laughter, stepping back. "Oh, _precious._"

"What?" Lily snapped, reflexively folding her arms across her belly.

"You see, it was uncharacteristic of me to have had such an unclear vision. To specify a time and place, but not a father? _Very _strange. And it turns out – the vision was extremely accurate." She flicked her eyes around the room, ensuring that she had everyone's attention. "You're going to _love _this."

"I'm growing tired of this, Flemeth." Hawke growled. "Have some pity on the girl and spit it out."

She sighed. "You are pregnant, child."

Lily exhaled, hard. She realized she hadn't been entirely convinced it would happen until it was spelled out for her.

"Do you know the father?" Hawke asked.

"I do." Merrill smiled. "It is all three."

Lily went cold. "That's ridiculous." She snapped. "You're lying."

"Oh, it isn't ridiculous. Just highly unlikely. Consider yourself blessed. It has been many centuries since I have seen triplets. How strange. And special." She turned to Hawke. "You have my word I will not return to your companions. I will, however, return if I am not satisfied with your care of her." The eyes closed, and Merrill crumpled into Varric's waiting arms. A great weight left the room, and Lily staggered, her blood roaring in her ears. She felt Hawke's hand on her arm, at a great distance, heard his voice but not what he said. She was cold suddenly, and falling, aware of someone else's arms around her before she fainted.


	12. A strange conversation

Hightown was dark, and cold wind was snaking through the columns around the plaza. Hawke was glad Fenris' mansion wasn't far. He hadn't been sure of the wisdom of bringing Anders and Zevran – he generally doubted the wisdom of putting Anders and Fenris in the same place – but Zevran had been uncommonly firm, and Hawke appreciated how little the Antivan chose to do that. Anders appeared to be in some kind of shock, wide eyed and silent ever since Lily had dropped unconscious. Hawke decided to get him to stay at the estate that night. His trips back home to Darktown were dangerous enough without his mind firmly on other things. Zevran's response had been – odd. It initially seemed like he'd had no response at all. The differences were subtle, the slight curling and uncurling of his hands, how he uncomfortably shifted in his armor. His eyes were sharp, bleak. Hawke had the uncomfortable feeling that Zevran was not happy with the situation, and perhaps not in the way one might assume. The echoing silence inside the dark house was deceiving. Hawke had visited often enough to know the apparent emptiness was deceiving. He held up a hand to stall the others, looking up the expansive staircase. "Fenris?" He called. "I'm coming up."

There was no response as they climbed the stairs, and not for the first time, Hawke reflected that he'd meant to send Orana around for some sneaky cleaning when he knew Fenris wouldn't be around. The elf wouldn't allow favors to be done for him, but he was capable of turning a blind eye. The house was becoming decrepit, and Fenris largely ignored everything except the master bedroom that he'd claimed as his own. The glow of the fire seeped around the door frame, and Hawke stepped out of the cold dankness of the hallway and into the warmth of the room. He could hear Zevran and Anders shuffling uncomfortably behind him. He doubted either had been here before.

Fenris was slumped on the floor in front of the fire, fully armored, his blade within arms reach. He was nursing a full bottle of wine, with a pile of empty ones on their sides nearby. Hawke sighed. This wasn't going to be a particularly easy conversation. Fenris looked up, belligerent. "I don't recall inviting any of you."

Hawke folded his arms. "It's important, Fenris."

Fenris was glaring at Anders. "I'm assuming your choice of companions isn't a co-incidence."

"It's not. How much of that wine has been this evenings?"

"About half of it." Fenris' tolerance for wine was incredible. There had been murmurings that he could even drink Varric under the table. Hawke crossed the room and sat down, Zevran following him and doing likewise. Anders stayed by the doorway, grimacing as he looked around him. Fenris watched them, entirely unimpressed. "Get it over with, Hawke. There's very little you can berate me with that I haven't already said to myself."

Hawke sighed. "It's not about last night, although as a side note she's fine, undisturbed, healing well."

"As much as can be, considering." Anders muttered. Hawke shot him a dark look back over his shoulder before looking back to Fenris. "We're here because Merrill had another visitation tonight."

Fenris blinked, eyes narrowing. "The witch."

"She spoke to Lily. And touched her. She's pregnant."

Fenris sagged a little, eyes going down to the floor. "I suppose you're all here then to tell me I'm going to be a father."

"Well – yes." Hawke swallowed. "As is Zevran, and Anders."

Fenris was still for a moment, before looking up slowly. Hawke had never seen Fenris truly floored before. It would have been funny under different circumstances. The look on his face was full of dread, perplexed and had the slightest fraction of wonder in it. He looked from Anders to Zevran and back. "How?"

"Triplets."

"Is that – even possible? With different fathers?" He was looking to Anders, antagonism gone in the search for medical clarification.

Anders shrugged. "Maker knows. I've never heard of a case where a woman had twins or triplets and had them conceived by different men on the same night, but I can't imagine that situation crops up often."

Fenris dropped his head into his hands. "_Vashevas Valass. _This is – completely implausible."

Hawke nodded. "It is. I think it's important that you talk to her. All of you. We all need to throw our support behind her as much as possible. This is going to be difficult enough as it is."

Fenris made a snarling noise of dismissal. "And what makes you think she would _want _to see me? After last night, after I've saddled her with a child she didn't ask for or want? She'd be _completely _right to never want to lay eyes on me again. She'd be a fool to think otherwise." He gave a deep, slow exhalation, and only Hawke was close enough to see his fingers shaking slightly. "A child. I never thought I'd have children. I wasn't even sure I _could_."

Zevran spoke up, breaking his uncharacteristic silence. "It is a lot to take in, friend. Lets try and look at this a day at a time. Right now, I think it's important you come back to the house."

"No." He said immediately. "She will not want me there."

Hawke shrugged. "You'd be technically right, but only because she's refusing the see anyone. When she _does _decide she's ready for visitors, you need to be there. I don't think it's going to help for her to feel like you don't want anything to do with her."

Fenris ran an agitated hand through his hair. "How is she?"

"She fainted. We put her to bed, she's been refusing to talk to anyone. Crying, mostly. We let the dog in, he seems to be helping."

"It might be easier on her if she wasn't so beaten up." Anders growled. Hawke turned and glared at him. "I'm going to make you wait outside in a moment."

Zevran held up placating hands. "Gentlemen. Please. Perhaps it is time to let this rest for a moment. Hawke, why don't you go back to the estate and check on our princess? Take Anders with you, let me have a few words with Fenris."

Hawke tried to stem his immediate response, which was to distrust Zevran's motives. "I'd rather you all came back to the house with me."

Zevran gave him a steady look. "We need to talk about some things, privately. We will follow you shortly."

Fenris made a noise of dissent from the floor. "What makes you think you can speak for me, Antivan?"

"Your best interests." He responded mildly. "And if you were a touch more sober, I think you'd understand that I'm trying to help."

Hawke threw his hands up in the air. "Fine. Have your secrets. The _minute _she decides that she wants to see one of you, you'd better be there. Understand?"

He stood, herding Anders before him. "I'm hoping all of you can be as mature and considered about this as possible. You're all in this together. Remember that."

Anders muttered something that Hawke snapped at him over, and they moved down the stairs, leaving Zevran and Fenris in the warm circle of the fire.

Zevran shifted a little closer, folding his legs under him. "You're taking this well, friend."

Fenris was staring into the fire, eyes full of fear and anger. "This – isn't right. None of it. She shouldn't have to do this. _We _shouldn't." He thrust the wine bottle at Zevran, who took it off him, swigging at it and handing it back. Fenris's marks were pulsing softly, and not for the first time, Zevran wondered if it was strain or emotion that made them throb like that. "It is unfortunate. In time, perhaps, you will start to think about what it might be like to have a son. Or daughter." He shrugged. "Perhaps it will be welcome."

Fenris made a disconsolate noise. "I have no home and no past and I did unspeakable things to the child's mother. This is _not _a good start."

"Let's address that." Zevran said firmly. "Because I believe you are laboring under a misconception."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're acting as if you raped her."

Fenris flinched. "She didn't want to do it. I hurt her. I don't know how much clearer it can be."

Zevran shook his head. "That's not how this works, friend. Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Fenris glared at him. "That's my business."

Zevran made a noise of impatience. "I am _trying _to help you. You don't think I might be a touch more knowledgeable in this area?"

Fenris gave him a wary look. "This is extremely personal."

"I know. Which is why I sent everyone away. We have our differences, friend, but I believe I can help you. You _will _need to be honest. There is absolutely nothing you could say to me that would surprise or shock me. I promise. I very much doubt that you and I are so unalike."

There was a long silence. Fenris knotted his long fingers together, looking down at the floor. "She fought me."

Zevran watched him carefully. "How do you mean?"

"How _else _could I mean? She tried to fight me off her. I held her down. She – bled. There was _so _much blood." He put a curled hand up to his forehead. "It was horrible."

Zevran considered that. "It can't have been _so _horrible for you. You obviously saw it through to the end."

Fenris snarled something illegible. "I'm not proud." He said stiffly. "I lost control. She was – scared. And I responded to it."

"Did she climax?" Zevran asked, bluntly.

Fenris blinked. "What?"

"You know what I refer to, yes?"

"Of course I know what you're referring to." He snapped, bristling. "I'm not a child."

"Well?"

He was silent for a long moment. "Yes." He said finally.

Zevran scratched at his jaw. "And is _that _when she fought you?"

"Yes." He swigged from his wine bottle. "I have gouges down the front of my shoulders."

"Most men treasure those marks." He raised an eyebrow. "Can I see?"

"Don't push it, Antivan."

Zevran sighed. "In my experience, some women fight when they hit that point. It has nothing to do with their partner and everything to do with the intensity of what they are experiencing." He looked at his nails. "If she clawed at you, Fenris, then I would take that as a credit to your ability."

The look on the younger elf's face was almost funny. "She bled." He said bluntly. "I _bit _her. She can't have enjoyed that."

Zevran put a hand up to his head. "If it's in the heat of the moment, pleasure and pain lie _very _close. For some people they are irrevocably entwined. Look. You castigate yourself for what you have done to her, when as far as I can gather, it was an evening you both enjoyed which started out a little awkward and involved some bad decisions. Yes?"

Fenris dismissed that with an irritated flick of his hand. "You aren't listening. I _wanted _her to fear me. I looked down at her and wanted her afraid."

"You aren't accountable for your urges, Fenris, just whether you act on them." Zevran shrugged. "Your preferences lie very close to my own. There is nothing wrong with wanting to dominate your partner. If it's consensual, it doesn't matter. It so happens our Princess appears to respond to that quite well."

"Don't call her that." He said, tersely.

"Why not?"

"It implies some kind of group ownership."

"I like to think of it as group protection. But that's not what we're talking about."

"So you're telling me there's nothing wrong with the fact I hurt her? _Badly_?"

"That's what I'm telling you, yes. I've made women bleed before. Not spectacularly, but – there you go. Sometimes a body just isn't ready, errors of judgment occur. And I'd imagine it would have been difficult for her to fully relax. It was an accident. She bears you no ill will." He held out his hand, and Fenris surrendered the bottle to him. "And you need to give her some credit. She's not entirely a pushover. Did she tell you when you hurt her?"

"Yes."

"Well, then."

He was agitated, shaking his head. "It's not enough. _You _didn't make her bleed." He raised an eyebrow. "I'm assuming."

"No, I didn't. But _you _went first. She was probably at her most tense and concerned before she even knew it would be you." Zevran leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I'm assuming you did all you could to set her at ease, obviously."

Fenris gave him a wary look. "I'm not going to give you details, Antivan."

Zevran sighed. "I'm just looking for a reassurance that you didn't just knock her onto her back and have your way with her. In which case, yes, you might have been somewhat to blame." Fenris was looking at him oddly. Zevran raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Fenris was thinking hard. He also looked like something might have just occurred to him. "I – I'm not sure what you mean."

Zevran made an exasperated noise. "Did you touch her? Hold her? Kiss her? This is _very _rudimentary, Fenris."

Fenris swallowed. "I didn't kiss her."

Zevran blinked at him. "At _all_?"

He was immediately defensive. "She _barely _knew me." He snapped. "I didn't think it was appropriate."

Zevran groaned. "Oh, for the love of –"

"_What_?"

He threw his hands up in the air. "No _wonder _she was tense. She's not a whore, Fenris."

"I _know_ that!"

"_Why _wouldn't you kiss her? Didn't you _want _to?"

"That's irrelevant." He snapped. "We weren't lovers. We hadn't even spoken."

Zevran had a sudden headache. "That was cruel."

His shoulders hunched, and he folded his arms protectively in front of him. "I'm not proud." He repeated stiffly. "It's not a situation I knew how to behave in."

Zevran sighed, trying to think his way around this. "So you didn't go down on her? _Nothing_?"

Fenris swallowed. "She did. For me, I mean."

Zevran stared at him, before muttering to himself in Antivan. "You lucky bastard."

Fenris shifted his feet uncomfortably. "I didn't want her to. I thought it was demeaning. She said she thought it might help."

Zevran scratched his scalp, feeling very sorry for himself. "How was it?"

Fenris narrowed his eyes at him, then relented. "Good."

"Just good?"

"Amazing." He glared. "I'm not telling you anything else."  
>"You're a cruel man."<p>

"Apparently."  
>"Look. This is the issue, as far as I can tell. You feel you've wronged her. I would be inclined to agree, but not in the way you feared. How will you go about addressing this? She's the mother of your child, now. She needs your support."<p>

Fenris gave a helpless shrug. "I don't know. Apologize?" He looked sideways at Zevran. "What would you do?"

Zevran didn't have to think long. "I'd ask – _very _humbly – for another opportunity to prove I wasn't a selfish brute."

"No." He said immediately.

"Why not? You don't desire her?"

"That doesn't have anything to do with it. She'd be mad to let me near her again."

"It _does_ have something to do with it. Do you want her?"

He was still for a long moment, before looking back at Zevran. "Is this a trick?" He asked stonily. "Are you going to try and kill me if I say yes? I've _seen _how you look at her."  
>"I'm after honesty. And <em>no,<em> I'm not going to kill you. For that, anyway. Antivans have a fairly robust view of companionship. I'm not the jealous type."

"Yes, then. I do. But I'm afraid of being with her. I'm worried about what could go wrong."

Zevran considered that, tracing the label on the wine bottle with his fingernail. "I could help you, you know." He said finally.

Fenris looked perplexed, then faintly amused. "What, you'll draw me some diagrams?"

"Ha! No, but that does sound like fun. I was – rough with Lily. In the way I suspect you _wanted _to be with her. I feel no guilt because I knew she responded with pleasure, we were both adults, all is well. You fear your instincts, but I think your instincts are similar to mine." He looked away, choosing his words carefully. "If she were willing – would you consent to being intimate with her if I was present?"

Fenris gave him a wide eyed look of complete disbelief. It was rather charming. "Are you _joking_?"

"Try to look at this without your personal preferences getting involved. I'm _not _going to try and interfere with you, I am very aware you don't feel that way about men. I can guide you and ensure that she isn't being hurt. It is a safeguard for her, a learning experience for both. If you would _like _to see how I – go about things, I'm quite comfortable with having spectators. Consider it."

Fenris was blinking rapidly, an expression of startled, belligerent confusion on his face. "How do you even know she wants anything to do with us, now? You speak like you're going back to the house and straight back to her bed."

Zevran shrugged. "Oh, she has a rather bad limp at the present time. I doubt anyone's going to be in her bed for a little while. But yes, I'm rather confident she'll have me back. I'm also rather confident she'd have _you _back."

"How?"

"She feels for you. Sex is obviously a big deal for her. I think she's developed _some _kind of attachment to all her men." Zevran stood. "Come. We'd best go back. And for the love of the Maker, Fenris, is she wants to see us tonight, kiss her hand or cheek or something. Yes?"

"You are an extremely odd man, Antivan."

"This is an interesting sentiment coming from you. Leave that bottle. Some sobriety might be wise."


	13. Awkward reunions

They'd left dinner and tea outside her door, and she felt a little more stable having eaten. She suspected them of putting something calming in her food, but she didn't care, and welcomed the help. She unwound her hair as it got darker, putting on the long nightgown Isabela had found for her and winding her dressing gown over the top. She went back to her books, her bare feet in the shaggy fur of that monstrous dog, who was happily basking on the rug by the fireplace and happy to pay her some unjudgemental, canine attention. It was nice. Her face felt puffy and sore, and her eyes stung. Her fingers kept going back to the incisor markings on her neck, tender and swollen, and she buried herself in her books. The Comtesse one had proved to be an incredibly graphically illustrated pornographic adventure, to her intense embarrassment, and she set it aside, wedging it down the side of a lounge cushion. _The Chant of Light_ was dry and boring, and she opted for the Fereldan one instead. It held her attention well into the night, and she jumped with fright at the soft tap on the door. "Who is it?" She asked, worried.

"Hawke. Again. I won't keep you long."  
>"Come in." She wedged her fingers into the book to keep it's place, closing the cover. She was the least concerned about Hawke. It was a relief that he was choosing to make the tentative contact. He looked, unsurprisingly, awkward. "Look. Lily. I just want to let you know that you're welcome here as long as you wish to be here. And not just because of this most recent – development. Think of this as your home."<p>

She squirmed. "I'm uncomfortable with all I'm taking from you. I don't have anything to give you back."

"If you _need _to think of this in terms of giving and taking, then think about the discomfort of the next few months." He winced. "It's the least we can do to ensure that you're at least comfortable and looked after."

"It's not enough." She looked away. "I need to feel like I'm doing something. I don't know what yet, but – I'll work on it."

"Let me know what you decide." He said, very slight amusement in his voice. "It's completely justified to want some alone time, I know, but – can I convince you maybe to see Anders? He'll need to check on you anyhow, and, well, I think he needs to be convinced that you aren't about to throw yourself in the harbor."

She gave him a wan smile. "What makes you confident I won't?"

Hawke nodded at the dog. "He won't let you. Sorry. Mabari's are good like that. And more to the point, I'm hoping we aren't _that _horrible to be around."

She looked away. "You've been good to me. Thank you." She scrubbed at her eyes, feeling the warning prickle in them. "All right. Send Anders up. But I don't think he's going to find the answers he's looking for."

"Just not being ready to gouge his eyes out should be enough at this stage." He turned for the door. "He'll be up in a moment."

She went to the washstand and splashed some cold water on her face to try and lessen the redness and soothe her sore eyes, but she still felt woefully unprepared for what was almost certainly going to be uncomfortable and maybe distressing. The dog was looking at her sadly, and she painfully bent down to ruffle the mane of fur around his neck. _He _was nice. She could get used to the gigantic dog being around. Heaven knows she was defenseless enough as it was. She folded herself onto the lounge as she heard footsteps in the hall, and Anders came in quietly, closing the door behind him and looking up at her with some trepidation. Her heart hurt. He looked so tentative, like she might slap him or scream at him. He looked down at the floor, fishing for something to say, the fire casting long shadows from his eyelashes down his gaunt cheeks.

"Why don't you come and sit down, Anders?" She offered. He looked up at her, blue eyed and cautious. "Thank you." He said quietly. "I appreciate you agreeing to see me."

His voice was soft, cultured, and it conjured up flickering images of his breath on her skin, his hands on her breasts. She swallowed, clutching at her book for comfort. He'd come up without the staff, the feathers on his shoulders rustling as he crossed the floor and sat beside her, at the extent of arms reach. "How do you feel?" He asked, knotting his fingers together in his lap.

"Are you asking as a healer?"

"As a friend."

"Um. Shocked. Empty. I don't think I'll really know for a while yet. Have you – delivered triplets before?"  
>He gave her a sober look. "No. Twins I have. If it's any consolation half-elven babies are substantially smaller than human ones."<p>

"Well, that's something." She looked into the fire, reflexively folding her arms over her stomach. "I feel sick."

"That's to be expected."

"Not in a pregnancy sense. In a I-don't-know-what's-happening sense. What does this mean for you? The others?" Her voice was starting to shiver, and she swallowed hard, bringing it back under control. "I haven't the faintest idea what to do with a child."

"I do." He said quietly. I'm good with children. I know it's not an idea circumstance, but I always wanted children. I'm – taken aback and a little disturbed right now, but once I've calmed down, I know I'm going to be okay with this. And glad that it was you. You're – special. You've been chosen for this for a reason, bigger than any of us."

"So is a sacrificial lamb." She snapped. "I don't have to feel good about it." He flinched, and she immediately regretted it. "I'm sorry. You're only trying to find the positives. I should learn that from you."

"No – I'm sorry. I am. I'm going about this all wrong." He looked down at his hands. "How do you feel about last night?"

"I'm still pretty sore."

"No – I mean us."

"Oh." She flushed involuntarily. It was a loaded, loaded question. "You were what I needed. Thank you. It was – really lovely."

He seemed uncertain, as if he didn't know how to interpret that. "I – that's kind of you. I know it was difficult. For both of us. Thank you for letting me be myself. With you." He colored a little, the faintest pink across his cheekbones. "I didn't think this conversation through. It shows."

She smiled at him. His blushing hesitance was reassuring. "I'm not sure how I'd feel about a prepared speech."

"Oh. Well – that's good." He took a deep breath. "I wondered if you'd be willing to spend some time with me. Just us, I mean. I'd like to get to know you, and I'm hoping we can try to have a pretty good sense of each other. Before you give birth, I mean."

She flinched away from the hazy concept of giving birth. "I – oh god. You say "giving birth" and I just – everything inside me goes cold. Oh god. I'm going to go into _labor." _

He hastened to reassure her. "I'll be right here. You know what my healing can do. It's going to be okay. Granted I've never done triplets, but I've done _hundreds _of regular babies. You're in good hands."

She could feel herself starting to hyperventilate. "Okay – Anders. I'm okay talking about pregnancy, but for now, if we could avoid labor or giving birth talk – that'd be great."

"I'm sorry." He said sheepishly. "I forget you've only known for – a few hours."

She reached out, and he willingly surrendered a hand. "Yes, I'll spend time with you. Please. I think I'll need it." He smiled, tentative pleasure on his face. "That's a great relief."

"Would you want a boy or a girl? Have you thought about it?"

"All day." He admitted. "And – I don't know. You know there's a reasonable chance they'll be a mage?"

"Should that worry me?"

"You've noticed that mages are persecuted here. It scares me that a child of ours might go through that." He looked away, tense and unhappy. "But I can't think of that, now. One day at a time. We're going to have a baby, and I know it's a shock, but I'm hoping at some stage you might be glad that – I'm the father." And odd expression crossed his face. "Among others."

She was surprised into laughter, which turned into a grimace of pain as abused muscles tensed. "Oh - I'm sorry."

"So am I. I meant to give you this as soon as I came in." He handed her a glass pot with a copper lid. "It's a salve. It'll look after any bruising and sore muscles."

"Oh, _bless _you." She took it gratefully, holding it to her chest. "You bring me such wonderful things."

He gave a shy smile. "Don't thank me until I know its working. I'd put it on after you bathe, your skin will take it better."

"Thank you. This will _really _help. If there's every anything I can do for you- "

He shook his head. "I'm a healer, it's what I do. Just use it, get better, look after yourself. I'm going to go away and do some very serious brushing up on the literature I have on multiple births. I'll tell you anything you need to know. For now, just – eat as much as you can. Don't drink. The rest we can work through." He squeezed her fingers, looking back towards the door. "I should go." He said reluctantly. I think the others want to speak to you."

"Ah." She set the salve on the table beside her, wincing. "Of course. Am I going to spend all my nights now seeing you three in shifts?"

He laughed awkwardly. "I hope not. It'd be nice to have you to myself for a while at some stage." He immediately went red, coughing and looking away to cover it. "I'll come by tomorrow, if you don't mind. We'll cover some of the things I usually talk to expectant mothers about. We can go out to the markets if you feel up to it."

She gave him a tentative smile. "I'd like that."

He stood, and she stood painfully to see him go. He was still for a moment, paralyzed with indecision, before pulling her in close and kissing her on the forehead. The smells of him overwhelmed her for a moment, the warmth and security of him, and she put her arms around him and held him. He gratefully folded her into his embrace, and they stood there for long moments, curled around each other, his cheekbone on the crown of her head. She tried not to think about how it felt to have him hold her, just firmly enough, her nose in the soft feathers of his coat. His grip on her shifted and she immediately released him, worried he'd try to kiss her. She'd misjudged him evidently, and the slightly hurt look he gave her sent a small pain into her ribs. He straightened his coat self-consciously. "I'll let the others know. Sleep well, Lily."

"You too, Anders. I'll see you tomorrow." He gave her a hesitant half smile as he turned to the door, and she stayed standing as it clicked closed behind him. She breathed out, hard, and the dog raised a hairy eyebrow at her. She didn't even know if it had gone badly or well. She didn't know what she wanted from him. Comfort, friendship, something else? He was certainly the safest, most secure option. And the one that she practically needed. She pressed her hands to her cheekbones, wishing she dared have a drink. It would have helped. She wondered bleakly if she was going to have to deal with Fenris or Zevran next. They each presented a fair share of problems. It was Zevran who appeared, and she folded her arms across her chest, swallowing as she turned to face him. It was easy to forget until he appeared in front of her, how beautiful he was, all gold and leather and dark eyes. He was relaxed but cautious as he crossed the floor toward her. "Lily. Things have changed for us."

She nodded wordlessly, taking an involuntary step back when he reached for her. He paused. "You recoil from me?"

"I didn't _recoil, _I just –" She brought one hand up to her hair, flustered and uncomfortable under his eyes. "Things _have _changed."

"You should be denied contact because you carry children?"

"_No. _Look. Last night _had _to happen. But it's done now, and – I barely know you."

He showed nothing on his face. "You regret it."

"No! I just –" Her face was heating up. "You made the best of an awkward situation, and – thank you. You were good to me. But that doesn't mean we have that level of contact _now._"

"Ah. It upsets you, does it not, that you enjoyed yourself?"

She went red. "I didn't have a choice." She snapped. "I chose not to make myself suffer."

"And when you rode me in the moonlight, with the storm outside? Was that also you choosing not to suffer?"

She swallowed. "Don't talk to me about that."

"You are conflicted, which is fair enough. But I think your reasoning is needlessly self-punishing. You will refuse my touch because you don't think we have spent the pre-requisite time in each others company?" There was a slight crease on his brow, a flatness in his voice, that told her he was – not angry, but vexed. "If you would _like _to be showered with gifts and attention, then by all means, I can do that. Some people feel the need for such things to prove their feelings. _I _would rather show you. And I believe I did that for you last night." He stepped closer to her, and she held her ground. "Yes, other factors caused our union. It does not negate the fact that I _did _want you. And I still do. I can think of nothing else." He touched her hair, the thumb on the side of her face, his eyes still narrow. "I did not think you would question the authenticity of what I offered you."

She looked away, distracted and warm from his touch on her skin. "I thought – that was just how you – did things."

"So what did you think I would do now? Ignore you? Chase someone else?" He looked unimpressed. "I know we have not known each other long, but that sells me _very _short."

"I-"

"You need time. This has all happened fast, I do understand. But don't think I didn't desire you. If I thought you'd let me, I'd take you in my arms and show you how much."

She shivered, his fingers sliding down her neck and to the base of her throat. "I extracted a promise from you, last night."

She knew what he was talking about. The heat in his voice gave him away. She dropped her eyes, unable to hold his stare. "Zevran – I'm sore. I don't think I –"

He made an odd, hissing noise of anger. "You think I would ask that of you _now? _Is your opinion of me _so _low?"

"Then why would you even bring that up?" She cried, knocking his hand away. "Except to embarrass me?"

"I wanted to know if you intend to honor it." He snapped. "Or whether you would rather I not try to touch you again."

She swallowed. "I'm having _three _babies."

"You believe this excludes you?"

"No, but you seem to be ignoring it."

"That is a separate issue. And now what concerns me right now."

She saw no way out of it. She felt sweat break out along her hairline. "I'm drawn to you, Zevran."

"That is very carefully noncommittal."

She made a wordless noise of frustration. "Fine. _Fine. _I'm _very _attracted to you. But as we've established,I don't know you. And in the _normal _order of things, I'd make VERY damn sure I knew someone well before allowing them to – have me. I want to feel secure that when you go to bed with me, I know what's happening behind those eyes."

His face softened. "Oh, Princess. You fear me."

She nodded wordlessly. He sighed. "Very well. I will be content with that. But let me kiss you before I go."

She gave him a look. He lifted his hands, looking innocent. "Please. I have been longing for it all day. I want to go to my bed with your taste on my lips."

She let him gather her towards him, long arms settling around her back, a hand sliding into her hair, and she was already limp and unresisting when he tilted her mouth up to his. Something in her overheated and shut down when he kissed her, like her body couldn't cope with his proximity, the taste of him. He kissed her in a way that brought the evening flying back to her, every caress, every sound. She remembered his lips on her ear, his fingers inside her, the feel of him holding her down and making her promise – he broke off the kiss, pressing her against his body, and her breath shuddered in response to the sensory overload. His fingers trailed over her throat. "I am five doors away, on the right. I will take nothing from you that you are not willing to give. You are not ready for lovemaking – I respect that. But perhaps you want a companion, a friend. My door is always open to you." He released her, and she staggered a little. He was smirking. She glared. "Sleep well, Princess. Rest assured you will plague my dreams tonight."

He turned away, and she wondered if the swagger was more pronounced than strictly necessary. He stopped at the door, and looked back. "We – have a child."

"You just realized?"

"I just realized that I welcome it." He lowered his lashes, looking away. "With you, anyhow." He slipped out into the hall, and she immediately limped to the cold window to cool her flaming face. She raised her hands to her forehead. Oh _god_, Zevran. She was so defenseless in the face of that kind of aggressive sensuality. He was a public nuisance. She put a hand on her stomach, feeling distinctly strange. Would the child of Zevran be a boy? She feared for the women of Kirkwall, if so. And maybe the men. It was disturbing to think about how she would raise such a child. Would Zevran be nearby? What kind of father would he be? He had a dangerous life, would he be alive long enough to see the child grow? She was cold again, moving back to the fire with goosebumps on her skin.

Fenris knocked. It seemed strange that of the three he was the only one to do so.

"Come in, Fenris."

He was fully armored again, that huge blade on his back, all black spikes and silver hair and eyes. He looked – gaunt. Like he'd aged in the course of the day. He closed the door behind him. She cleared her throat uneasily and he held up a hand. "No. Let me speak."

He had such an incredibly masculine, deep cold voice, it seemed so strange that it came from the slightest, smallest of the three. He was so formal, his words chosen carefully and spoken softly. "I need to apologize. I treated you badly. It is unforgivable."

She folded her hands. "It was a difficult situation that I think we both had – trouble with."

He was hovering by the door, as if wanting to get away from her as soon as possible. "Will you come over to the fire? It's warmer."

He hesitated before crossing the room towards her. "I don't intend to keep you long." He didn't appear to know what to do with his hands, hooking them into his belt and looking resolutely into the fire. His jaw and the line of his throat were tensing and untensing, his whole posture one of stiff discomfort. "Is it true?" He asked.

She knew what he referred to. "If Flemeth is to be believed, yes."

"Do you believe it?"

She thought about that for a moment. "Yes." She said eventually. "I'm here for a reason. I don't know what she'd gain from lying."

He was silent for a long moment. "I never even considered having children." He said, his voice tinged with something indefinable. "I have some serious doubts about my abilities as a father."

"And I've never seen myself as a mother." She said. "We will all be learning, I think."

"It's cruel." His mouth was twisted, his voice angry. "You aren't a broodmare. You don't even _know _us. You'd be right to hate us."

"Hate is exhausting." She touched her neck self-consciously. "And you had no more choice than I did."

"But-" He slumped a little, defeated. "I had choices. I could have behaved differently with you. I didn't think you'd want me to feign a kind of closeness that neither of us felt."

"If it was feigned, then no, I wouldn't."

He looked at her finally, frustration and helplessness in his eyes. "Then what would you have me do?"

"God, Fenris, I don't know." Her head was starting to ache. "There were a lot of bad choices made. You and me. It was a group effort. And we probably needed to be drunker."

"The mage said I scarred you." He sounded – sick. "Did he lie?"

She shifted her hair back, uncovering the scar. He flinched. "Nothing I could say can make up for that."

"Anders took most of the fire out of it. It's okay. I'm not vain enough for it to worry me."

His eyes were fixed on the spot on her throat, his mouth a tense, unhappy line. He unhooked one of his hands, uncertain. She stepped closer. "You – can touch it. If you like."

His eyes met hers, startled, confused. He looked down at his own hand, encased in spikes and steel. "That is unwise."

She didn't know if he referred to the physical contact or the gauntlet. His face was softer when he looked up, and she felt like she'd said the right thing. She wet her lips, a little taken aback when his eyes went to her mouth and he swallowed. _Oh god. _She thought. _He's thinking about – _she could feel her face heating up. _Quick. Talk. Cover it. _

"Fenris, I'm getting the impression that you think I suffered through last night. I didn't. It's okay. I don't – regret you."

His eyes flew up to hers, taken aback. "But –"

"Don't go looking for things to castigate yourself over. We need to move past that. There's – more important things to think about now."

He stilled, and for a minute she thought he was going to snap at her. "You're right." He said finally. "Zevran told me the same, but – it means different things from you."

He held out a hand, and she tentatively took it, the metal cold under her fingers. "Let me know what you want from me, and I'll do it." He said, and it felt more formal and ritualistic than heartfelt. "There are many things that I am not, but I keep my word. And I believe now I have an obligation to keep you safe."

She went cold. "You have no obligations. I'm perfectly capable of keeping myself safe."

The metal around her hand tightened. "You've been taken by slavers twice in three days." He said coldly. "And apparently you spent an afternoon with the First Enchanter. I doubt your instincts of self preservation."  
>"What does Orsino have to do with this? He was very kind to me."<p>

"Of _course _he would be." Fenris snarled at her, and she dropped his hand, taking an involuntary step back. "What does he stand to gain from you? A peon in the household of the Champion of Kirkwall. Someone impressionable with _no idea _how dangerous he is."

She was suddenly, immediately angry. "How dare you act like I'm a child?"

"You are _no _child. But you haven't an understanding how this all works."

"Then _tell _me." She snapped. "You're all _so _quick to discredit me on the base of my lack of understanding, but Orsino so far has been the only one willing to talk to me and fill in the gaps! He wants to _help _me! Why is that so sinister to you?"

"And why does a creature like Orsino want to cultivate your good opinion? You are too trusting."

"What, you think he's trying to sleep with me? Why does that even _matter _to you? Why should it matter to _me_, even? It appears it's the only use I _have_." She turned away from him abruptly, flinging a hand up to silence his response. "Just _go, _Fenris. Come back when you can talk to me without condescension."

She hadn't been prepared for him to grab her and spin her back to face him. She stumbled, shocked, and he locked both hands on her upper arms, eyes sharp and angry. "I will tell you, then." He seethed, and her heart slammed against her ribs in fear. "I was a slave to men who murdered children to fuel their magic. Who cut the wombs out of women to create elixirs to dye their _hair. _Who held me down and cut lyrium into my skin, out of curiosity. _That _is what mages are. They have power the rest of us cannot comprehend, and it warps them. Even the strong ones are abominations waiting to happen. Anders even, for all his pretensions, carries a demon inside his head. Did he tell you? No, he obviously didn't." He looked away, his face a disfigured snarl of disdain and anger. "Remember that when he touches you, feigns tenderness. He carries their taint. Maker knows what that child will become."

"You're scaring me."

"You wanted to know? I'm telling you. Do not condemn me for answering your wish." His grip loosened, and he moistened his lips, his eyes closing for a moment. "I replay last night over and over again in my head. I hate myself for what I did to your body. And I am – humbled by what you did to mine."

It was a very beautiful way of putting something that she was so intensely embarrassed about, and as disconcerted as she was, she was startled to feel herself blushing. "Let me go, Fenris."

He stepped in closer, his grip lighter but firm, careful of his gauntlets on her skin. His eyes met hers, and they burned. "I'm not an animal." He said softly, his voice so loaded with emotion she thought it might crack. "But I lost control. Let me – set things right. Give me another opportunity to show you I'm more than a beast."

It was the last thing she expected, and her lips parted, staring into his face in confusion and alarm. They stood in silence for a moment, and she had no response to give him. His face wavered, his eyes closing over. He released her, turning away. "As you wish."

She watched dumbly, mind racing, as he left the room and closed the door behind him. She sagged onto the lounge, her head sinking into her hands. _Oh, god. _She had no idea what she wanted of Fenris, but she _hadn't _wanted to isolate him so completely. The dog whined, shuffling to nudge her with his muzzle. She realized, suddenly, what a delicate line she was treading, trying to keep everyone on at least friendly terms. This was going to be very, very hard. She stood and limped to bed, too sore and depressed to stay awake and risk any other well-meaning visitors.


	14. Past History

Isabela was pretty much ready to club Hawke over the head and drag him to bed. "You've been awake for about thirty hours." She growled. "Let it _go. _There's nothing you can do for her right now."

Hawke made a discontented noise and flopped over onto his back on the bed. "What a mess."

"They're grown men, she's not stupid. They'll figure it out."

"I don't think she's stupid, but she doesn't _know_-"

"Some things are instinctual, okay? If she wants any of them, she'll let them know, the other will deal with it. One day at a time. I don't think she's going to be breaking anyone's heart _right now."_

"That's a simplification."

"Is it?"

"_Yes. _Those three have just realized they have a child. That's news enough to scare a man out of his senses. And surely it's instinctual for a man to try and solidify his status as a father? And by default, the partner of the mother? Oh, Maker." He flopped over, moaning into the bedspread. "I think Zev has the maturity to deal with this. To be brutally honest I'd be _amazed _if he doesn't have children scattered around somewhere. Anders – Maker, I wish it'd just been Anders. He would have taken to the idea like a fish to water. And he's developing _something _for her. There's trouble brewing. It's going to be horrendous."

"You know if she said no to Fenris he'll back off."

"I know, but I'm worried she _won't_. Which will give those two something else to tear each other to shreds over. I'm worried one of thems going to kill the other. They're capable, I know it." He grunted wordlessly into the fabric. "And _triplets? _Have you ever met anyone who's had triplets?"

"No." Isabela clambered up onto the bed to straddle his back, hands kneading into the base of his neck. "That's the only bit that authentically worries me. That's – a lot of babies to come out of one lady."

"I know." Hawke sighed. "I'm going to talk to Anders. He's delivered a lot of babies, but I wonder if it's a good idea if one of thems his own. At the very least he'll need a skilled helper."

"Yeah. We've got nine months to look into it."

"Eight."

"What?"

"_Eight _months. Elves have shorter gestation periods, even half elves."

"But what does that mean for –"

"Anders' child is going to be born very early. I'm sure it's occurred to him."

Isabela muttered something foul. "Great. As if he could get _more _on edge."

"I wish we had someone in the house who'd had children. It'd be good for her to have someone like that."

"I can help her out to the five month period, but after that, she's on her own."

Hawke was silent for a moment. "You were pregnant?"

"_Long _before you, sweet thing. My husband. Apparently sailing the high seas doesn't do good things for unborn babies."

"I'm sorry, love."

"Oh – that's all right. A long time ago." Isabela's hands stilled. "Can I take your purse tomorrow?"

"You usually ask?"

"Ha, ha. We need to buy her some things."

"We do?"

"_Yes. _She doesn't own anything right now but some borrowed dresses and the things those boys bought her."

"She can use anything in the house."

"But they're _your _things."

"It makes a difference?"

"_Men. _Yes, it makes a difference."

He was silent for a moment. "I'm going to take her to see Orsino, I think."

"Why? He creeps me out."

"He's nice enough. She's going to go see him, I think it's inevitable. If it's going to happen, he and I are setting some ground rules." He paused. "And no ones telling Fenris."

Anders was surprisingly chirpy when she came downstairs to greet him in the morning. He kissed her on the cheek without any kind of awkwardness or hesitation, and she happily kissed him back, grateful for his presence and his easy friendliness. He was holding some intimidating looking books under one arm, and when he suggested that maybe they go out for a while first before getting into the daunting task of expectant motherhood, she agreed immediately. She'd bathed and used his ointment before emerging, and the difference was incredible. She could walk with only slight discomfort and the limp was far more minor. And after three days indoors – with the one excursion of fleeing into the cellars and out to Darktown – she was absolutely ready to get some fresh air. It was dizzily bright outside, and she instinctively stuck to Anders' side, overwhelmed by the sights and smells of the totally unfamiliar Hightown. It was beautiful, all tall columns and ivy and sea air, scented with the soft smell of new leather and steel and perfumes. "Is Anders a common name?" She asked him, deciding that holding his arm and slowing him down was preferable to trying to keep up with his long legged stride.

"Not overly. Why do you ask?"

"I was reading something last night. About the Fereldan Blight. And a city called Amaranthine."

"Oh?" His voice was rather carefully bland.

"The Warden Commander was working with an Apostate called Anders, who'd escaped the Fereldan Circle of Magi seven times."

"Did he now."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Dare I ask?"

"You can ask. I might not answer." He was uncommonly jovial, and she elbowed him lightly. "Come _on_. They write stories about you? That's amazing!"

"Any idiot can have stories written about him. If he's in the right place at the right time. I just happened to fall into the Warden Commander's lap at a time when she badly needed backup. And Grey Wardens." He touched his ear self-consciously, and she noticed the old mark of a long closed piercing. "I was a very different man, then."

"What was she like?"

"Her name was Xerenes. She was – small. Pretty. She was an elf, and a mage, the best I've ever seen. But she was shorter than you, even, and looked like you could snap her with a sharp word. A certain quality that made you instinctively pipe down when she went to speak. I miss her."

"What happened to her?"

"I left Amaranthine – and we knew it was too dangerous to keep in contact. I've just trusted that somewhere she's still killing fools and hassling Alistair. She enjoyed that."

"As in the King?"

"That's right. I only met him once or twice. A nice man. Surprisingly chirpy. For a king, I mean."

"Wow." Her head was spinning a bit, trying to place her knowledge of those events into the sketchy map her had in her head. "So – you've come a long way."  
>"As in, traveling? I'd agree with that. We all have reasons for distancing ourselves from former lives." He scratched at his chin, evidently uncomfortable with the line of question. "You would have read about Zevran, then."<p>

"What?"

"He was with the Warden when they fought the Archdemon."

"That was _him_?"

He looked amused. "There's not that many Zevran's running around."

"They only ever called him the Antivan Elf. They didn't even say he was an assassin!"

"Well, in his line of work he keeps personal details out of bards hands."

"So – you knew him back then?"

"No, sadly. He went back to Antiva when the Archdemon died, I met the Warden a few months later. But she talked of him. She was very, um, taken with him."

"In – that way?" He _was _a menace.

"No, the Warden preferred women, I'm fairly sure. But that didn't stop her from being quite impressed by him." He looked away, pointing down the stairs in front of them. "That looks out over the harbor. And the ladies dresses and shoes and things are all down there."

"Oh, I'm not buying anything."

"That may be, but I'm under orders from Isabela." He absentmindedly felt at his pockets. "She gave me Hawkes purse – ah, here it is."

"I'm not using their money." She said stiffly.

"Lily –"

"Anders – please. It's humiliating enough that I'm living on everyone else's mercy, but they aren't going to buy me things as well. That's just – no."  
>"Isn't Isabela going to want her hairbrush back? Her brushes? That dressing gown?"<p>

She went red. "Anders –"

"I'm not trying to rile you up. You need your own things. We can find you some things to look after around the Estate if you feel the need to help out. But don't throw their assistance back in their faces. It's not going to work. They'll just buy you things without your input." He gave her a hesitant smile. "And it's been a very long time since I've helped a lady buy a dress. I've been told I'm reasonably good at it."

She laughed, one hand going up to her warm face. "Are you going to braid my hair? Paint my toenails?"

"If you'll let me."

She'd refused to let him help her carry things back. He'd tried – a few times – and she'd leveled a look at him that suggested she was not going to be the kind of expectant mother who let herself be confined to bed. It had been a mixed experience for him. The pleasure of her company, the light, pleasant diversion from the blood and fear and violence of his usual day to day activities. He caught her looking sideways at him a few times, her lashes low, a soft blush on her cheeks, and he was taken aback, then shyly pleased. It was nice to know she thought of that night at least a fraction as much as he did. It had been a long time since the last time he'd been with a woman. He could barely remember her face. She'd been an elf – a first for him – and very slender and delicate. She'd disappeared in the night, as most mages did. He wondered what became of her often, and hoped she was somewhere safe. It felt like worlds away from the blonde, _young _thing at his side, her eyes huge, small fingers knotted into his sleeve. He had moments of guilt that were so strong it was overpowering. How dare he hope that she might grow to feel something for him? How dare he confront her with that _now_, so early, when she was so scared and unsure and new to everything? It was unfair. But at the same time – he could feel Zevran circling her like a predatory animal. He'd witnessed Fenris's overwhelming anger and helplessness in the face of his own lack of control, and couldn't help but assume that in _some _form – Maker help her – the elf felt something for her, too. He couldn't stand by and watch that. Watch her gather scars? Watch her withdraw and grow quiet, like he's seen in every beaten wife in his clinic? No. Never. She was too important. All he could hope was that she'd make an informed decision and hold off doing anything too stupid in the meantime. She appeared to have intelligence, but some allowances had to be made for youth and unfamiliarity. She was biting her nails, and her fingers in her mouth were deeply distracting. "Did you want to head back?" He asked, noticing how she was gingerly shifting her weight around. His lotions only went so far, and logic said she was still sore. She favored him with a smile. "Um – maybe. If you don't mind. I need to sit down for a while."

He guided her back towards the Hightown Estates, moving to shield her from the eyes of the group of templars who watched them pass with pointed interest. Anders' skin prickled. He hated how known he was now, and wondered at what point Hawke's protection ended. He had things he needed to see done, things that he wanted to live for. He thought about his child – _their _child, and fear squirmed in his gut. He didn't like that they'd just seen her with him. She was vulnerable, something that could be used against him. _And _against Zevran, if the Crows got their hands on her. _And _against Fenris, if the Tevinters got her. It made him feel sick. She wasn't a fighter, at _all_. What could they do to keep her safe that didn't oppressively smother her? They encountered Sandal waddling out the front door of Hawke's estate, and he insistently took Lily's packages from her. "Enchantment." He told her solemnly, before leading them back into the sleepy warmth of the lounge. Hawke was on his feet, tapping at his chin with a curled hand and looking preoccupied. "_There _you are." He said impatiently. "I need some logistical mage-help. Merrill's still refusing to see anyone. Anything you need to wrap up this afternoon?"

Anders looked sideways to Lily, a little deflated. "I needed to talk to Lily about the pregnancy."

"It'll wait a day." She said quietly. "I'll probably manage not to do any damage this afternoon."

Hawke nodded. "Good. Sandal, take her things up. Isabela's floating around upstairs, Lily, I think she's been hoping you'll spend some time with her."

Lily gave Hawke a wary look. Hawke's mouth twitched. "I didn't ask. I think she's feeling a bit starved of attention."

Lily touched Anders' arm lightly. "I'll see you later." She said, and gave him a smile. 'Thank you."

The two men watched her go, silent until she disappeared behind Sandal up the stairs. Hawke looked back to him. "Dare I ask?"

"I have no idea what you're asking."

"She seems to like you."

"Oh."

"I would have thought Justice would give you hell for that."  
>"He's been – quiet. I don't know why."<p>

"That's good, though?"  
>"It tends to be building to something." He winced. "I haven't told her."<p>

"You didn't tell _me _until I'd known you for two months. Let's be fair."

"But – you and I hadn't –"

"A good point. You hardly had time to sit her down and talk her through a relationships worth of secrets. Don't be too hard on yourself."

"I'm worried about the others."

"So far, Anders, everyone's been behaving extremely well under trying circumstances. My only concerns are yourself and Fenris. Can I ask, for _her _sake, not to go picking any fights with him?"

"He _hurt_ her!"

"She doesn't see it that way, and if she isn't feeling distraught and violated, it's beneath us to feel it on her behalf."  
>"But –"<p>

"Anders. She's having the mans child. They need to be on reasonable terms. Leave it be."

Anders folded his arms and glared. Hawke raised one brow. "Are you _really _going to fight me over this?"

"Was there something else you wanted to speak to me about?"

Hawke held the stare for a moment, then chose to let the matter drop. "I'm trying to coordinate something to bring Saul out of hiding."

"The slaver?"  
>"That's the one. As far as we can tell he's holed up in the Blooming Rose. The Madame doesn't want him there, so she asked me to ferret him out. Conveniently enough I've been trying to figure out where he is. So the next step is to try and tempt him out into the open."<p>

"How do you propose that?"

"Have you ever been a patron at the Rose?"

Anders snorted. "When you treat as many whores diseases as I do, Hawke, brothels lose their appeal."

Hawke nodded. "A good point. And noted. I might have to ask you to – go in there. Pretend to be a patron. Keep an eye on things."

Anders narrowed his eyes. "Keep an eye on what, exactly?"

"We're going to try and stage a business meeting with him. I'm going to throw Zevran in there and let him talk his way into convincing Saul out into a public place where we can ambush him."

"Really? Zev?"

Hawke smirked. "He doesn't know yet. I'm going to hang one of the Madams whores off his arm and convince him to act like her pimp."

"Some people get all the fun."

"On the upside, we'll make sure theres some girls around you to camouflage you a bit. As it is we're going to have to change your clothes or something."

Anders looked down at his feathered pauldrons and sighed. "A little obvious, am I?"

"I don't want anyone to connect you to me. Zevran luckily isn't known to be one of mine. And he's a reasonable actor."

"And what am I doing, exactly?"

"Nothing, hopefully. Just step in if things get out of hand."

"Who else is involved?"

"Aveline is barmaiding."

Anders looked at him in complete disbelief. "You're joking."

"Not the cute flirty kind, the crowd control kind."

"Ah."

"And Varric will be doing what you are. He's somewhat known there, so he's not going to be stepping in unless completely necessary."

"And you? Isabela?"

"I'm going to be skulking outside in case he tries to make a hasty exist. Isabela and Fenris will be with me. Isabela's banned from the Rose. Fenris is too well known and not very hideable."

"Okay." He scratched at his head. "When is this supposed to be happening?"

"Tonight. He's agreed to meet a man called Calemides at the Rose. You'll have to saunter in and make yourself comfortable beforehand."

"I don't know if I've sauntered in my _life._"

"That's the spirit." Hawke turned to the staircase. He seemed to have a better sense for when Zevran was soundlessly approaching than the others did. "Come on down, Zev, this concerns you."

"Eavesdropping?" Anders asked Zevran as he comfortably sauntered down the staircase. The elf blinked innocently at him. "I? Surely not. My substantial ears were burning, however."

Hawke leaned back against the mantelpiece. "Guess what, Zev? I'm putting a whore on your arm and sending you to go chat to a slaver. Ideally you're going to convince him to buy the girl."

Zevran raised a brow. "And when exactly does the _work_ portion start?"

"Ha, ha. The mans dangerous, and you're not only going to be responsible for getting out of there safely, but also for the safety of the girl who's agreed to help us. Understand?"

"Perfectly. What is this fair maids name?"

"Roselle. She's the Madame's only fully trusted girl. And she's taking a very substantial risk agreeing to help." Hawke shot Zevran a look. "And no interfering with her. I need everyone focused."

Zevran inclined his head graciously. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Good." Hawke straightened out his gauntlets. "Anders, I need you to lie low today. Stay here if you like, otherwise stay in the clinic. I imagine he's going to have men out in the general Hightown district and I don't want anyone getting a look at either of you." He nodded upstairs. "Lily's with Isabela. Lets leave her alone for a good while?"

Anders glared. "I _wasn't _going to-"

"Friend." Zevran interrupted. "This is a discussion for you and I, perhaps later. I think we can both agree that she is entitled to seek any of us out if she feels the need and otherwise can be left to her own devices."

Anders folded his arms. He didn't like it when Zevran made sense. It made him assume he was planning something sinister. "Fine."

"Good man." Hawke looked back to Zevran. "I'm fetching Fenris and going to go check on Merrill and meet some Starkhaven royal with a grudge. You two need to stay here and out of sight." He strode towards the parlor, adjusting his cloak as he went. "_Try _not to upset each other."

Anders and Zevran watched him go, and Zevran folded himself onto the lounge. "Well, then." He said brightly. "I think it has been a _good _long time since I've seen you drunk, friend. We have time to kill. Make yourself comfortable."


	15. Subterfuge

Isabela was highly agitated. Lily was wary of her until it became clear what the issue was.

"Lily. Love. I know it's all very weird and so on, but you've got to understand. I'm lecherous. I really am. And for _two days _I've been holding off and it's killing me. You've got to tell me. You have to. You have no idea. Everytime I look at Anders or Fenris I wonder, and _now _you're in a place to tell me." She flopped onto the sofa. "Put me out of my misery."

Lily was painstakingly unwrapping her dresses. "I don't know if that's fair on them."

Isabela gave a noisy sigh. "Oh, _Maker. _You spent an evening with three different men and you can't tell me about it? _Ignore _the witch. It's an achievement. I didn't manage that until I was _well _older than you."

Lily blinked at her. "How many have you managed in one night?"

"Seven. Don't look at me like that, it was a dare." Isabela stretched her long legs out, squirming into a more comfortable position. "And I was bowlegged for days."

"…Wow."

"We all have our achievements." Isabela folded her arms. "No sidetracking."

"I don't think I should tell you."

"Oh, _Come on. _In three words? Just three words!"

"Fine. _Fine. _Um –" Lily rolled her eyes up to the roof. "Anders – Attentive. Cuddly. Loving, I guess." She narrowed her eyes at Isabela's poleaxed expression. "What?"

"No, nothing! That's a pleasant surprise. He has moments of being as bad tempered as Fenris. I wondered how he'd be in such an odd situation. Is he hairy?"

"Not hugely. Enough. Nicely hairy."

"You _liked _him, didn't you?"

"He was sweet. I was _very _open to being cuddled. Can we _leave _it?"

"Fine, fine. Fenris?"

Lily thought, hard. "Intense." She said finally. "Conflicted. Awkward."

Isabela winced. "Hawke told me about what happened. Downstairs, I mean. When Anders hit Fenris."

Lily blinked. "He _did_?"

"Fenris came downstairs with blood all over him, Anders freaked, Zevran pulled a knife on Fenris and Hawke intervened." Isabela smiled drily. "Emotions running high, apparently."

Lily grimaced. "I didn't know about that."

"Ha. Well – yes. But it was good, though? I mean – no offense love, but I'm only a door away from you. I could _hear _you. I was relatively confident you weren't being ravished."

Lily made a little noise of mortification. "Isabela!"

"What? There's nothing _wrong _with it. Truth be told I was only hanging out in there to eavesdrop to make sure I didn't have to barrel in and intervene. For _your _sake, sweet thing. Don't get all horrified on me now." Isabela smirked. "And I'm not always that quiet. You _may _hear things from time to time. Lets say it strengthens the friendship." Lily laughed once, one hand on her warm face. Isabela laced her fingers together. "It was a difficult call. Because initially – it was pain. But not fear, just pain. And then at a certain point – it switched." She tilted her head. "What happened?"

Lily shrugged. "My body just adjusted, I guess. It really hurt. And at a certain point, it stopped hurting. I don't know."

"Was that bite a nice one or a hurting one?"

"Both? I don't know."

Isabela sighed. "You know I'd just be satisfied if he took his shirt off occasionally? He's too covered. You _know _that those markings and everything are going to be beautiful."

"Oh, they were. _Very _distracting."

"What, did he have to push your head back down?"

"Isa_bela_!"

"What?" She stopped, and made a little noise of glee. "I was joking! But you _did_, didn't you? You minx! I _am _impressed!"

Lily thought her head might explode from sheer mortification. "I am _not _talking about this any more!"

"Oh, come _on_-"

"No!" She turned away and started noisily unpacking her dresses. "Did you _really _only come up here to squeeze details out of me?"

"No, of course not. I'm sorry. It can sometimes be a – you know – _bonding _thing. With girls."

"Maybe under different circumstances."

"Okay. _Okay, _don't go all hurt on me. Look, I brought you something."

Lily made a pained noise. "_Isabela_-"

"I didn't buy it! They were already in the house! Bodahn keeps the ledgers in them!" She produced two black leather books, the paper pristine and untouched. She opened them to demonstrate the lack of writing. "They're blank. Thought you might like to – you know, write in them. Isn't that what you scholarly people do?"

Lily stared at her. "I – _write _in them?"

"Er, yes? Like a diary or something. Or recollections of your past as you remember them. Or you can draw pretty pictures in them or something." She thrust them at her. "There's pens and ink in the desk."

Lily took them, blinking. She stared down for a moment, before suddenly, horribly, she burst into tears. Isabela swore in another language. "Oh, Andraste's tits, what have I gone and done _now_?"

Lily shook her head wordlessly, throat closed and aching as she sobbing into the cover of the gifted ledgers. Isabela made a long, mournful noise of irritation and put an arm around her. "Oh, come now, it's okay – look, back up a bit, sit down." Lily obediently folded onto the sofa behind her as Isabela fussed around with the tray of tea implements to her right and prised one of her clammy hands off the book to press a cup of tea into. "Couple of deep breaths, now. Maker, do pregnant ladies where _you _come from all get this emotional?"

Lily could have thrown the tea at her. "Do you _mind_?" Her voice cracking and wobbling all over the place. "If this was a _normal _pregnancy I could have had a good month or so where no one would suspect a _thing_ and I didn't get treated like a damned invalid!"

"Lily –"

"I'm not bloody emotional because I'm pregnant, I'm emotional because I've been bloody cast adrift and filled with babies and I don't remember _anything_ and –" she dissolved into tears again, racking sobs sending her teacup perilously quaking and scattering drops of tea on the leather covers of the books.

"But – I mean – that's all been brought about because of _books_?"

Lily sniffed, trying to slow down her shuddering breathing. "No. No – that bit was gratitude. And then you said something stupid, and it – changed."

"Ah. I did, didn't I? See I have this disconnect between my brain and my mouth. One of my more endearing traits, I'm told. Problem is it means I'm not much good when I'm around people who are feeling delicate. Believe me, if there was a more comforting, friendly option, they'd be sitting in here with you now. But – there's just me." She smiled. "Although Sandal can be very cuddly when the situation calls for it."

She surprised Lily into a shaky laugh. "I'm sure he can."

"I can leave you alone if you like? Send in the dog?"

"No – no. I'm sorry. I'm okay now." She took a long breath, and lifted the teacup to her lips with a hand that shook. "Thank you. For the books. I really appreciate it."

"Oh, that's okay." Isabela's dark tan looked a touch pink on her cheeks. "It was a hunch. Lots of people like to write to calm themselves. I know Anders does. I suspect he keeps a diary." She patted Lily's knee. "I know it's tough, love. And for what it's worth, I feel for you. But I certainly think things could be infinitely worse. None of your men appear to have wigged out and fled, for example."

"I suspect some aren't far."

"What – Fenris? Pfft. Hardly. He's still in the panicking stage, but I think if nothing else he's not going to leave you in Anders' hands. Sheer bloodymindedness if nothing else."

"What _is _there problem? Why do they hate each other so much?"

"Fenris suffered – a lot – in the hands of mages back in the Tevinter Imperium. Anders is fighting to take mages out from under Templar control, which is what Fenris opposes on account of what complete bastards the mages he served under were." Isabela gave a deep sigh. "Both feel very – very – strongly about their two viewpoints. Both think the other is an animal. It's been an interesting kind of balance, namely kept by Hawke. They're both too valuable to cast adrift, otherwise I suspect he might have sent one of them off a long, long time ago."

There was a soft cough, and they turned to the door. Hawke leaned there, with Warburton the mabari snuffling at the side of his knee. "Mind if I intrude? We've got an issue downstairs, 'Bela."

"Oh?" Isabela stood. "Whats up?"

"We don't have a whore anymore. Roselle has been killed."

Isabela was on her feet. "Urgh. Was it Saul's people?"

"Oddly, no. Looks like an unrelated Sharps mugging. But it throws a stick in the machine, so to speak. We might have to whore you up after all."

Isabela grimaced. "There's only so much I can hide with cosmetics."

Lily had been watching the conversation silently. "Sorry," she interrupted tentatively, "you need someone to dress up like a fake whore?"

Hawke nodded, and Isabela looked down at her, eyes narrowed. "Hawke. You don't think-"

Hawke shook his head firmly. "Too risky. And I can think of three men who'd happily floor me for even suggesting it."

Lily caught on quickly. "I can help. I'm sure I could manage to be convincingly whoreish."

"This is going to be _dangerous, _Lily. And you can't fight."

"Could Roselle?" Isabela asked. Hawke shot her a dark look. "No. And she's dead. You don't see a pattern?"

Lily got awkwardly to her feet. "What does the whore have to do?"

"Sit next to Zevran and look whoreish. Answer questions meekly, maybe flirt a bit."

"So she stays with Zevran?"

"That's right. Zev was responsible for looking after her."

Lily smoothed her dress and folded her arms. "I can do that." She said firmly.

"Lily –"

"Hawke." She said. "I need to be able to contribute. I'm serious. And I _really _think I could be a convincing whore. Did you think I was going to hide in this house for nine months?"

"Yes, but –"

"Is there _any _other reason beyond your concern for my safety?"

"Well, no."

"Okay, then." She set her teacup aside. Hawke was looking nervous.

"Lily –"

"I'm going to contribute, Hawke. And it sounds like you need a lady who isn't Isabela. And Aveline or Merrill don't sound like much of an option." She gave him an even stare. "And I'd _like _to see any of those three tell me I can't."

Hawke held her stare for a few moments, and exhaled hard. "'Bela? Think you'd be able to shape her into something that looks like a whore?"

"I hope that's a trick question, Poppet." 

She was expecting the commotion downstairs. She just didn't think it'd be so _loud. _She winced when she heard the rather distinctive sound of Anders accusing Hawke of throwing innocents into harms way. Lily cringed. "I hoped they'd trust my judgment a little."

"To be fair, kitten, they barely know you."

"That's true. I forget." She was shifting uncomfortably, wrapped in a silk dressing gown, the underwear underneath distinctly uncomfortable and sort of obscene. "Can't I wear my usual underwear?"

Isabela gave a worldweary sigh, sliding long jeweled pins into the pile of hair on Lily's head. "If a nun wears slut's underwear, does she feel like a slut or a nun?"

"Um…"

"Whatever is against your skin takes precedence. That underwear is going to make you _feel_ the part. Just – trust me. And you look fantastic. Maybe you could wear it for someone else later on."

Lily gave a half hearted snort. "Before I get too big for that kind of thing."

"Too big for sex? Rubbish. Though I will say navigating a pregnant lady will separate the men from the boys."

"Wouldn't it be sort of – repulsive?"

"Hmph. I suppose the occasional bastard might think so. Most are usually just smitten by the whole glowing, big boobed, fertility-goddess thing."

Lily made a face. "I don't think I'm going to want anyone to come near me when I get really big."

"You'll see. You're going to have all kinds of crazy things in your system before long." She stepped back, eying the pile of hair critically. "Nice. On your feet, take that thing off. Let's get this dress on you."

Lily stood, shuffling a little closer to the fire. "Okay. So do you have any helpful advice?"

"Plenty. You need to look at _everyone _like you're so immensely aroused you might collapse in a heap and climax at any moment. Maker, I wish we could booze you up a bit. When you sit down, lean in a little bit. Give them a solid look at your cleavage. Draw attention to your mouth. You've got Zevran to act off, which is a bonus. He'll lead you. Just play along. Try not to flinch if someone gives your rump a friendly squeeze."

The dress did up the back, and Isabela held it open for her to step into. She wobbled a little and had to grab her arm to keep her balance. "I can cope with all that. I'm – not going to be able to wear my wristblade, am I?"

Isabela shook her head. "These sleeves drape off just below the elbow. The straps should let you tie it around your thigh though."

"I never thought of that." She stood as still as possible as Isabela laced up the back, squeaking a little. "Does it need to be this -?"

"Tight? Yep. Your boobs need to _pour _out the top. Thank the maker you've got a fair bit to work with. A whore with no tits is a sorry thing indeed."

Lily had been very calm up to this point, but looking at herself in the long mirror – no makeup as yet, Isabela hadn't gotten that far – she began to have a twinge of misgiving. She squashed it down mercilessly, knowing that if any of them suspected she was having second thoughts they'd redouble their efforts to talk her out of it. She could play calm. She knew she could. And she was going to have to be completely, convincingly in control if her motley collection of protectors were going to even let her out the front door. Isabela was gripping her lower lashes and painting something that made her eyes water onto the line of skin below her eye. "Don't cry or anything, okay? You'll ruin this."

She couldn't nod, and instead made a noise of assent. There was a polite tap outside, and Isabela looked to the door. "What?"

Hawkes voice was muffled. "Is she decent?"

"Of course not, but she _is _covered."

The door opened. Somewhere behind her, Hawke swore. "Did you have to put her in _that,_ Bela?"

"What? It's the sluttiest dress I own."

"I _know_."  
>Isabela stood back and motioned for Lily to turn and face him. She tried not to visibly blush when he did so. Hawke made a noise of pain and lifted a hand to press at the bridge of his nose. "Anders is going to kill me."<p>

Lily was inexplicably rankled. "He's not my keeper, Hawke."

"I never said he _was. _You don't need to be so defensive about it to _me, _I have no problem with your delicate independence. But he _is _going to kill me."

Isabela pulled Lily back down into the chair and tilted her chin up. "That's Anders' problem, not hers. How are we doing for time?"

"Good. I'm assuming you need another few minutes?"

"About that. Is Zev ready to go?"

"He is. And he looks ridiculous."

"As much as she does?"

"Oh yes. If not more so. If Merrill was here she'd be in a big giggling heap."

Lily tried to turn a little to face Hawke and was firmly shifted back by Isabela. "Is she still –"

"Yes. Don't worry about her, Lily. She will bounce back, and I'm hoping we haven't given Flemeth any reason to check in on us again." He was looking everywhere but at here. "We're good to go, when you are."

"Some lipstick and jewelry and I'd say we're fine." Isabela disconcertingly groped her bosom in an attempt to adjust it. "Maker, girl, I tremble to think what these are going to look like once they start milking up."

Hawke made a noise of pain.

Zevran _did _look ridiculous. But also amazing, in an obscenely tasteless way. He wore emerald velvet, with large sleeves, and expensive brocade panels. His hair was braided back and fitted under a broad hat tilted cockily to one side and sporting a few ridiculous colored plumes. He was visibly unarmed, though Lily suspected a few hidden weapons on him. The look on his face was – unexpected, when she came carefully down the stairs. Shock, then startlement, then finally – deep foreboding. She'd hoped that perhaps she'd glean some confidence from him, and that didn't appear to be forthcoming. She swallowed, uncomfortably, at the foot of the stairs. Anders silently got to his feet and left the room. Hawke put his head in his hands. "Right." He said, muffled. "Lets clarify all of this. Lily – whats your name?"

"Roselle?"

"Correct. Whats _his_?"

"Calemides?"

"Good. Zev –"

"I know what I'm doing." He said, folding his arms. "Can we not just get this done with?"

Hawke raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. "Fine." He said curtly. "Zev, take Lily and head down. We'll take up positions later. Don't do anything stupid in the meantime."


	16. Saul

The Blooming Rose was pretty much exactly what Lily expected, and it surprised her that brothels were so universal. It was a nice one, as far as she could tell – the furnishings were tasteful and nothing smelt horrible. It wasn't until the nearest girl sashayed past- casting an appraising eye over her – that she steeled herself and reminded herself – firmly – that she needed to whore it up. She took Zevran's offered arm and clung to it like a lifeline. He registered with a bare flick of his eyes. "You _do _realize I'm going to say terrible things about you, I hope?"

She nodded, trying to look as disinterested as possible. "I figured. I'll, um, try to live up to it."

He made a disconcerted noise. "I didn't think this would concern me, but it does. _Please_, Princess, don't speak unless you're spoken to."

She was disturbed by his worry. "It's going to be fine."

"Oh, I know, Princess, but some things are bigger than just you or I, now." He was looking about idly, the image of lazy unconcern. "He's not here yet. Come."

He settled himself in an armchair and hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her half onto his lap, she gave an unintentionally cute squeak of surprise, and he smirked. "I don't believe I've ever seen a whore so adorable. I'm going to have to try and market you as some sweet untainted thing." She huddled into him, shielding both their faces from the room. "Is that really going to fly?"

"Oh, of course it does, Princess. Plenty of men looking to buy would like to imagine themselves taking possession of something young and virginal. Shutting out the obvious reality." He had his fingers wound idly into the laces up her spine, his thumbnail trailing over the tiny sliver of skin exposed. She shivered, and his eyes flicked up to hers. "Now if at any point I – go too far, you need to let me know. Start plaiting a piece of your hair. I'll back off a little."

"I don't think that'll be necessary."

"A back out it always advisable. Always. If at any point we need to cancel this completely and you want to get out, just – call me something. Something you wouldn't normally."

"_Amore_?"

"_What? _How do you know that word?"

She blinked. "It's a language that I don't know much of. Do you know it?"

"We would say it _Amor, _but it means beloved. How strange." Suddenly remembering that they weren't supposed to be discussing language at that particular point, he turned her on his lap a little giving her a better view of the room as he idly nuzzled into the curve of her neck. She was a little stunned to spot Aveline behind the bar, in a gown and apron, the straps of leather around her upper arms and her fiercely braided hair letting the patrons know she was _not _there for sale. For a woman who'd likely never tended a bar in her life, she was convincingly glowering as some drunken sop with overly pretty hair leaned on the bar, trying to get her attention. Wary of paying her too much attention, she let her eyelids droop as she felt Zevrans hands smooth around her waist, slightly kneading her hip through the silk. She saw Varric next, out of the way, not disguised but a fixture of no concern. Amusingly, he had no women to faun over him, but plenty to huddle in close to him, wide eyed, as he told some obviously ridiculous story. He looked like an odd, hairy mother hen amongst a collection of gaudy chicks. Zevran nipped at her neck and she gasped, a little louder than she'd anticipated. His grip on her tightened. "Mind." He warned. "His guards are here."

She made herself idly look to the door, feigning disinterest, her stomach going cold at the sight of the three men, big, hulking things, coming slowly through the front door, accompanied by a far smaller man robed in rich silks, his eyes hooded and dark, his whole bearing exotic and wealthy. A bodyguard exchanged words with the Madam, who nodded curtly and gestured over to the corner where she and Zevran sat. Zevran stood, setting her to one side. "Sit yourself down, Roselle, like a good girl. Our good friend Saul has come!" And with that, it was on – Saul's eyes alighted on Zevran – Calemides – and he smiled widely, crossing the floor to offer a hand. "And _this _must be Calemides, yes? You are very easy to find in a room, friend."

Lily was shocked at how chirpy and happy the fellow seemed, even when his eyes snapped across to her. "And this is Roselle, I'm assuming? Quite lovely. She does seem a touch - ill, though."

Zevran waved to Aveline, who stumped out from behind the bar with a jug of ale. "I have not had this one long, friend. She _was _underfed. I'm in the process of fattening her up. I'm relatively confident she will fill out wonderfully."

"Hm, I believe you. With a face like that, she'd be _perfect _just that touch more plump.' He settled himself at the table, giving her and Zevran leave to sit. "Now tell me. A pretty girl is not such a difficult thing in this day and age, friend, and the price you ask is truly impressive. Why should this Roselle be worth my time?"

Zevran accepted a mug of ale from Aveline, who left the jug on the table and thumped away. "Saul, friend, I know at heart you're a gentle soul. This little one comes willingly."

"And why is that?" Saul turned to her, disconcerting black eyes locking on hers. "What do you gain, pretty one?"

She didn't have to act taken aback at being addressed. "I – well, Sir – my price will look after my family."

"And you would go into slavery for them?"

She looked down at her hands. "My little brother is sick, Sir. I think it will help him get better."

He made a sad little noise. "Poor little dove. Well, I'll admit I prefer them not kicking and screaming. And she's been working the streets, you say? For long?"

"As I said, I have not had her long. She was a blushing virgin when I first discovered her. She has something of a – knack – for whoring that I've not encountered before."

"How do you mean?"

"The men she has are devoted. They have her once and they are breaking down my door the next day, demanding her services again."

Saul leaned his head on one hand. "I want specifics, Calemides. It is no great skill to just lie there. Why is she special?"

Zevran sat back in his chair, gesturing expansively. "Friend, I would have to write you a list. After a week or so of near-crazed patrons, I had her myself to understand what the fuss was about. And obviously I've had _many _whores, understand. She has a mouth on her like you would not _believe._ But more to the point – it really needs to be experienced to understand – she is the _image _of a shy virtuous maiden. She can take your cock into her mouth and _blush _while she's doing it. She makes the clumsiest oaf feel like a seasoned lover. Just _breathing _on her makes her shudder all over. It's truly something special."

It was disconcerting that he was so comfortable with this. She didn't have to fake the heat that she could feel climbing her neck as Saul turned to look at her. "Truly? Heavens, she does blush prettily. Come here, girl."

She hadn't planned on this portion. She hoped to god Zevran had as she stood and crossed to Sauls's side, tensing when he took her comfortably around the waist and pulled her onto his lap. "There's a good girl. Look at me, now –" He looked her over like you would a horse, tilted her chin with cool fingers, inspecting her. "Hm. Lovely skin. You rarely see skin so creamy on the streets. Where did she hail from originally?"  
>"Her father was Orlesian. I daresay her coloring is from him." Zevran had sat forward, and she wondered if she imagined the tension across his shoulders. "Though I'd imagine for the most part its luck."<p>

"Hm." He palmed one of her breasts, so detached and disinterested it barely registered as invasive. Before she had a moment to respond, he shoved her off him and stood, tipping her into the arms of the bodyguard to her right. His gauntleted hand clamped around her shoulder. "Very well." Saul said, agreeably. "You've peaked my interest. I'll take her. We'll send the papers and documentation over tomorrow." He stood, the deal apparently over. Zevran stood with him, wary. "Now Saul, a moment. The agreement was _not _to take her tonight."

_It was going wrong, _she realized, like a bucket of cold water over her head. She swallowed. "I need to say goodbye to everyone." She trembled. "Can't I go home first?"

Saul made a noise of irritation. "You're a slave now, girl. You aren't afforded those kind of indulgences. We sail out tonight. Jackis, give him his money." One of the bodyguards retrieved a purse and started counting out coins, and Zevran went still. "Very well." He said finally. "Be a good girl, _Amor. _I'll remember you fondly."

What did that mean? That he knew? She tried to slow her speeding heart. Wait, wait, Hawke and Isabela were outside. Maybe this had been factored in. She let her bottom lip tremble. "Goodbye, Calemides. Tell mother I love her."

"Oh, I will, sweet. Take care.' The bodyguard gave him the money, and he tucked it into his belt. "She's a good girl, Saul. You won't regret this."

Saul sniffed. "Oh, she's not my personal taste, but there's a market for her. The guards can have her tonight and give me an opinion tomorrow." He turned from the table. "Travel well, Calemides, I'll seek you out when we next return to the Free Marches." And suddenly the guard shoved her, turning her from the table, and Zevran was gone, behind the pile of muscle who held onto her shoulder in an unnecessarily tight grip. They were moving towards the door, and she had a sudden image of Anders – in Hawke's armor, it looked like, an obscene sword strapped to his back, slouched by the front door, and watch her with very badly concealed panic. She started to sweat as they pushed her past and out into the cold air. Saul fell in step beside her, and she swallowed, wishing hard that the low light was covering her obvious jitters. "You will have to be chained once we get to the boat, understand." He told her mildly. "As a precaution. And to keep you safe, as well. Not all the slaves are as genteel as yourself and I'd rather you weren't raped. Just keep your head down and speak when spoken to. When we get closer to the Imperium we'll put some time and effort into prettying you up. I think you'll make a fine whoreslave in a wealthy house, or maybe a maidservant. Anyhow, it will be a damned sight better than your life here. I expect gratitude from you."

She swallowed. "I'm very grateful." She whispered. "Sir."

"Good girl. Keep up, now." She was stumbling a little, her legs suddenly reduced to jelly as panic began to close her throat. _Where were they? _When was this going to be over?

The bodyguard ahead rumbled something illegible to Saul, who acknowledged with a curt nod. "Yes. Through Darktown. No obvious routes." They led her into a dark staircase, and she stumbled, blind and hobbled by her unfamiliar skirts, and the guard who held her gave her a warning shake as the moved further down into the seething darkness. Saul held up a hand to stay them. 'Stop. Wait. What was that?"

Lily tried hard to hear among the thudding of her heart. It was a faint buzzing crackle, like static, and it set her hair on end. Saul's hand found her wrist. "Faster. Let's get out of here."

The guards were armored – their clattering drowned out all else, and she struggled to keep up in the dark, her limp starting to hurt her, her fear making her faint. She was instantly blinded as a torch ahead of them flared to light, and Aveline stood in the doorway, feet braced, a gigantic sword in one hand and a lit torch in the other. She still wore her barmaids apron. "_Halt." _She barked. "You're under arrest by order of the Guard. Hand the girl over."

Saul made an irritated noise. "Men." He said, and the one who held Lily clamped a hand over her mouth, and she heard the slide of metal and a dagger was against her throat. "Not a word, whore." He snapped at her as the other two rushed Aveline. The guardswoman backed away immediately, her head jerking to one side, the eerie whistle of crossbow bolts making the guard who held her tense. There was a thud as a guard hit the floor, a horrible scream and the sound of metal as Aveline cut down the other. Saul spun without a word and began to head back up the stairs. The guard picked up Lily and threw her over his shoulder, breaking into a run to keep up with his master. That horrible, staticky buzz filled the air again, and Lily clamped her eyes closed, swaying and dizzy as the ground thudded and spun beneath her, and she heard a roar of anger from – somewhere? Who on earth could that be? There was the sound of metal striking bone, and the guard who held her spasmed, then howled in pain, hunching to the side and dropping her to the stone floor. She hit the ground hard – he'd been very tall – and blacked out for the fraction of a moment. She came back in a fog of agony – her hip and shoulder crunched into the stone and burning with pain. She worked her way up onto one arm – the din around her was incredible, what were they _doing_? – and registered dimly that she needed to get out of the way. There was a burst of lightning – of course, mages, typical – and she cringed, not seeing the hand that went in for her and dragged her upright by her hair. Pain lanced down her side and she cried as a hand clamped around her throat, squeezing just hard enough to keep her still. Through a fog of dizziness she saw Hawke, bloodied and armored, lifting a gauntleted hand to still the others. "You can't win this, Saul."

He had blood on his hands. She could smell it. "I can, in actual fact, since none of you have the steel to kill the girl to get to me. So I'm rather comfortable with how this has turned out, _thank _you." Her vision was clearing – Isabela, a long bleeding cut slicing across her thigh, blood trickling down into her boot, Anders who'd shed a good chunk of the armor and looked frazzled, singed, and toweringly angry. Varric was on one knee, blood smeared across his hair and onto his forehead, one hand on the ground, trying to regain his equilibrium, and Fenris was beside him, his blade out, blood streaking his black armor in long dull ribbons. His eyes were on her, and they were terrifying. Saul's grip on her tightened. "All of you. Weapons down."

Hawke gave a very, very slight nod. There was the clank and rattle of metal on the stone, and Hawke straightened up, hands up, palms towards them as he took a step closer. "Let's negotiate, Saul. We want the girl, you want to leave alive. There's room for an arrangement that can make _everyone _happy, here."

Saul's hands tightened on her throat, and she reflexively grabbed at his wrist. "Take another step, and I'll fry her." Oh help, he was a mage. She hadn't realized that that would be the logic behind his absence of weapons. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to calm.

"I'll stop here, then. Look. You can even have her cost back. I'll double it, if you like. Make a profit out of this."

Saul made a contemptuous noise in his throat. "You aren't getting anywhere _near _me, Hawke."

"Fine. I'll send one of my men over." He turned to Anders, and Saul spoke immediately. "The _mage_? What kind of fool do you take me for?"

"Oh, all _right. _If you insist. You'd know immediately that Fenris here is no kind of mage, anyhow." Fenris straightened up, murder in his eyes, and she felt Saul relax. Evidently Fenris' intimidation did not have the same effect on him as it did on her.

"Fine. Send over the elf. You don't get the girl until I have the money, understand?"

"A fair deal." Hawke handed a cloth bag of coins to Fenris, and there was the sound of grinding as he closed his gauntlet into a fist around it. Hawke stepped back, leaving Fenris between him and Saul and Lily. Lily's eye was caught by a faint shift of moment along the rooftop – and she steeled herself, unsure what was coming, but knowing it would be sudden and probably nasty. Fenris came towards them, tension in every line of his body. All she could hear was Saul's rasping breath in her ear, everything disappeared behind the dull roar of blood in her ears. He was in arms reach, now, so close she could smell the metal and blood and the faint musk of his skin. His gauntlet came up, and he offered the money. Saul's grip on her lightened fractionally as his other arm released her to reach out. A split second slowed to a crawl – she felt the buzz of magic on her skin as Saul began to do something- she didn't know what – and Fenris' face disfigured into a snarl, his fist tightening, blue silver flame igniting the gauntlet as he plunged it _through _Lily's chest. For a moment she was dead, everything black and cold, her vision spluttering out like a candle, and then she was back, an indescribable sensation of wrongness coursing through her as he withdrew the gauntlet and she felt Saul fall away behind her. She staggered, trying in vain to stay on her two feet, before surrendering and collapsing forward into Fenris' arms. It hurt. Metal scraped over her arms and she clanged her head on his shoulderguard. "I'm sorry." She heard him whisper, strangled and miserable. "I truly am."

She would have liked to have summoned up a reply, but her heart suddenly burst back into life and the shock of it sent her barreling back into unconsciousness.


	17. The damage done

She came around very slowly – and rather painfully. She had scraped arms, she realized – a bruised hip and shoulder, but no proper wounds as far as she could tell. But that aside, she felt – wrong. Like she'd been churned up and dropped from a great distance. She was nauseous, and dizzy, and moving at all felt like a tremendous effort. She opened her eye a fraction of a crack – and saw nothing. Some kind soul had pulled the curtains completely closed to shut out all the light, and she lay in a blissfully dark and warm little bubble. She moved – a tiny bit, everything seemed insurmountably difficult – and the covers and blankets shifted, the sound triggering a scrabble of claws on the other side of the curtain. There was a snuffling sound, and a whine, and she could see the curtains shift around as Warburton pressed his muzzle into them. Further into the room she heard someone stand and cross the floor, unarmored. "Lily?" Hawke asked quietly. "Can I open the curtain?"

Lily had to swallow twice before words appeared. "Yes. A little."

He was obedient, twitching the curtain very slightly open and sticking his head in. They'd at least thought to keep the light low in the room beyond. "It's good to see you awake. You've been out for about eight hours."

"Is everyone all right?"

"Varric's broken a rib, and Isabela's got a nasty cut, but nothing too bad." He tilted his head a little. "Mind if I sit next to you? I can barely see you in there."

"I don't mind. I _would _sit up, but…"She trailed off. God, her throat hurt. He winced.

"Hang on-" he dropped the curtain closed, and she heard him clinking around jugs and glasses before reemerging with a glass of water. "You might need this."

"Bless you." She tried to take it with one hand, and very nearly dropped it. Hawke grabbed at it. "Whoops – okay. I didn't think this through. Why don't we get you sitting up first?"

She surrendered the glass and let him set it aside, open the curtains wider and settle one knee on the mattress. "This might hurt. Sorry. Can you just – hold onto me?"

She obediently looped her arms around his neck and let him haul her upright – her scrapes and bruises burst to life and she sank back onto her pillows, woozy and deeply depressed. "What now? She asked, as he ducked back out to retrieve her water. "How long will _this _last?"

Satisfied that she could hold the glass in both hands, he sat beside her. "I don't know." He said with a sigh. "We know you're fine, we just had no idea when you'd come out, how long it would last for – generally speaking, when Fenris does _that, _the person doesn't survive. But that's also the intent. I didn't realize he could do it and _not _kill. He must have though, obviously."

"What is it?" She asked, afraid of the answer. "Are his gauntlets magic?"

"Oh no. It's him, not the armor. It's to do with the lyrium veins on him. I don't think he truly knows the extent of what he can do." He sighed. "That can't have been fun, Lily. I'm sure he would have warned you if he could have."

She set the empty glass aside. "I know. Is he – okay?"

"Oh, probably not. He took off straight after we got you home. I'd imagine he's deeply drunk by now. Try to – be gentle on him. If you don't mind. He's ultimately a good soul, and he punishes himself for things he can't control."

Lily watched Hawke, his tired eyes and tousled hair. "You care about him, don't you?"

He winced. "I've _seen _how vulnerable he is, Lily. I'd be surprised if he's much older than you. Which makes him barely a child as far as I'm concerned." He flicked sober, dark eyes across at her. "Sorry."

She shrugged, too tired to care. "Well – I'm glad someone does."

He nodded. "He's capable of very good things, Lily. I know he is, he's just – hurt, as well. Hurt and scared and very wary." He considered her for a moment. "But you care about him too, don't you?"

She looked down at the covers. "I feel for him." She said eventually. "I know he suffers, and I wish he didn't. Is that what you mean?"

Hawke considered. "You don't – want him?"

Lily flushed. She felt her cheeks suddenly flame up. "I'm not really in a position to _know _what I want, right now."

Hawke sighed. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I know things are difficult. Just – it's okay. You're doing fine. And we owe you thanks, for being an amazingly convincing whore."

She managed to redden further. "It's a gift."

"It certainly is. The madam's offered you a place at the Rose if you ever want to consider a career change." He stood carefully, extracting himself from the curtains. "Anything I can fetch for you?"

"More water?" She appealed. "And – do you think it would help if I talked to Fenris?"

"It would. I think. Though he _is _going to be a bit drunk. Still. I'll send Sandal to fetch him." He pulled the curtains closed, shrouding her in blissful darkness. "Rest, if you can. Are you – up to a visit from Anders? They're all worrying, but he manages to worry about a million times more than the others."

She lifted a hand to her head. "I don't go out of the way to concern everyone."

"Oh, I know. I just figured if I'm going to expose you to some mother henning it should probably be coming from a Healer."

Anders _was _concerned. He was distressingly pale, and his hair looked like he'd been pulling at it. "Lily." He said, weary, sitting on the side of her bed heavily. "It's – a relief to see you."

"You know I'd be all right though?" She said warily. "Didn't you look at me when I was unconscious?"

"A little." He allowed. "I don't like doing much. Your body's been – disturbed enough as it is." He looked at her, properly, his face shadowed and strange in the darkness. "How do you feel?"

She thought about that a long time before speaking. "Unsettled. Sore."

"Is that all?"

"I couldn't walk right now if I tried." She said bluntly. "I'm not sure what you're looking for."

His brow creased, his shoulders slumped. He sighed. "I don't know. You scared the Maker out of me. I thought he'd killed you."

She stared at him. "What? Fenris? _No. _Surely not."

He looked perplexed. "Why do you imagine him something – civilized, or reasonable? He's more a wild dog than a man." He brought a hand up to his head. "No. Look. I'm not going to talk about him with you. I can't bear it. I just – needed to see that you were all right. I can't help the nausea or the dizziness, but I can help with the scratch and bruises if you like."

She was sobered by his obvious distress and depression, and nodded wordlessly, shifting in the blankets and catching his hand, saving him the discomfort of finding her bruises in the dark. "This ones the worst." She said softly, settling his palm on her hip. She'd moved the blankets back so his hand rested on the thin cotton of her nightdress, and she felt him flinch at the contact. He swallowed. "Sit back. You'll probably feel dreadful for a moment."

She did. For a split second, as he lifted his hand away, she thought she'd vomit. His vision steadier, and she breathed out, shuddering. "Oh, god. Thank you."

"That's okay." He turned away, going to stand, and she caught his arm. "Anders? Are you all right?"

He exhaled, hard. "I'm tired. And – sore. And I've had a nasty scare, but apart from that, I'm fine."

"Hey. Come here." She pulled him back in, or else guided his back down since she had no strength to speak of. She caught his face and leaned in to kiss him, very briefly, on the lips. It wasn't intended as passionate- they were both too worn down for that – and she released him immediately, unsettled by the overwhelmingly familiar taste of him, the warm, enveloping scent. He gave a very distinct shudder. "I – wish you wouldn't do that."

"What?"

"You know what I mean."

And he stood up and left, without looking back, and Lily was stricken, staring down at her bruised hands with a cold jolt of desolation as the door clicked closed. _Why _had she done that? It was beyond stupid. She wasn't trying to play with anyone. She hadn't even thought it out. She just thought – she made a sad little noise, and Warburton whined from his place on the rug. She closed her eyes, trying to gather her thoughts before Fenris appeared. It was strange – _so _strange – and seemingly more strange that she was adjusting to all this flatly impossible information. It felt like anything was possible, now. An armored elf who could just stick a hand _through _people? Why not. Stranger had happened. Pregnant to three men at once, in a foreign land full of mages and dwarves and Templars and – she had a moment of complete, overwhelming terror and clasped her hands over her mouth, breathing slowly to push the panic down. It was then that Fenris entered, not knocking, abrupt and tense as if he'd barreled up the stairs and come straight in on the assumption that if he'd slowed he might lose his nerve. The look he gave her was almost a challenge, like he was waiting for a fight. He looked awful, still bristling with armor and splashed with blood, his hair mussed up, his beautiful eyes tired and haunted. They stared at each other, and the immediate thing she could think of was the most illogical. "You're going to get blood all over the covers if you come over here like that." She told him, calmly. "And I can't get out of bed. Why don't you take the armor off?"

He blinked at her, as if it were the last thing he was expecting her to say. "I don't understand."

"Take the armor off, and come sit with me. Please."

He stared at her for a long moment, almost angry, definitely disconcerted. Then, seemingly finding it too difficult to formulate a response, he turned away, striding out of sight beyond the curtained portion of the bed. She heard him undoing straps and buckles, and she relaxed back into the bed, retrieving her glass of water and cradling it on her lap, waiting for him to remerge. She heard him wash his hands at the washstand, and when he did finally reemerge, her stomach twisted a little at the sight of the simple, fitted tunic and leggings he wore underneath all those spikes. It was how he'd been before her when she'd taken him into her mouth, and she involuntarily swallowed with the memory, looking back down to her hands. She could feel the blush crawling up skin as she felt the mattress give a little as he sat, gingerly, on the edge as far from her as possible. She thought carefully before she spoke. "Will you tell me what happened?"

He was looking down at his bare hands, which afforded her the freedom to watch him, watch him struggle with how to say what he wanted to say. "It's something the lyrium gives me." He said softly. "I don't know how. And I haven't discovered the full extent of it, it's just – something I can do."

"What happened to Saul?"

"I killed him." He said, blankly, no inflection, no nothing. "I reached through you and crushed his heart."

She drank, her mouth suddenly dry. "They – didn't know you were going to do that."

"You weren't supposed to leave with him. We were all improvising. Nothing was part of the plan." His jaw tensed and untensed. "They thought I'd killed you. Until they tested your pulse, they all thought I'd murdered you. Even Hawke wouldn't look at me."

His voice was threadbare and wintry, and desolate, and she wished more than anything that he was the kind of person she could just gather up and cuddle. "I never thought that." She said, her voice faint. "I felt you – go through me, and I never thought it was to hurt me."

"I would have warned you." He said, his shoulders hunching in, his head hanging. "I wished more than anything that you'd – known. To anticipate the possibility. I didn't know Zevran was on the roof, assuming I'd get you away so he could take Saul down. I didn't _know_." He swallowed, and she heard the grit in his voice, and wordlessly offered him her glass. His head came up and he stared at her, before taking it off her with the barest nod of thanks. "I'm sorry." He said heavily, after draining the glass. "I feel that is all I ever say in your presence, but I am. I've been nothing but a blight to you."

"Don't say that." She said quietly. "Things have been hard for all of us. And I don't think they understand you."

He quirked an eyebrow slightly. "And you do?"

"I'm – trying."

He looked back down. "That you even try is humbling."

"You seem tired."

"It's been a hard night."

"Why don't you sleep here?"

He tensed. The temperature in the room dropped. "What?" He asked, with an edge in his voice.

"I – I don't know, I just thought it might be nice for you to not have to go back home. You've already unarmored. I'm happy to have you here."

A million things battled on his face, disbelief, bewilderment, and finally distrust. "Why?" He said warily. "Why would you want me near?"

"I'm not propositioning you."

"I know _that. _What are you imagining, that we sleep alongside each other and wake up freed of all the misery that's gone before us, all the anger and hurt and fear?" He was looking straight at her, brow gathered, his voice flattening out into that angry, defensive sneer. "Do you imagine things fixed so easily?"

"I'm having your baby." She said bluntly. "I just don't want you to hate me."

He sagged, his head dropping, one hand going to his face. "I do not hate you. But I don't understand you, either, and I'm afraid of what mistakes I may make."

"It doesn't have to be fraught with difficulty." She said quietly. "I'm offering for you to stay here because I feel like I might feel safer with you nearby. It's been – a frightening night, for me."

It seemed to unlock some kind of response. He looked at her, carefully, the sparse light throwing long shadows across his face. "It would comfort you."

"It would."

He warred with his conscience, his sense of propriety, god knows what else. "I will, then. If you wish it of me." He caught her eyes, their softer, gentler green glinting. Should I draw the curtains?"

She nodded, settling herself lower under the blankets. "Please. I don't want to be antisocial, but I'm so tired I'm dizzy."

He shifted, carefully, climbing onto the bed beside and turning to sit upright, elbows on his knees with his back against the wooden headboard, reaching across to pull the curtains closed. The darkness was sudden, and smothering, and she blinked, bewildered. She could feel his hesitation. "I can move to the couch, if you would rather."

"No. I prefer this. You – can sleep, if you want."

"Later." She heard him shift a little, getting comfortable. "Thank you."

She risked reaching out to touch his hand, managing to miss and get his knee instead. "Goodnight, Fenris."

He flinched away, but didn't withdraw. "I'm still filthy." He said, a soft reprimand, and she pulled back to roll away, more comfortable with her back to him, cautiously relieved that he had chosen to stay. And in spite of everything, she did feel safe with him there. Sleep came upon her fast, and abruptly, and was blessedly dreamless.


	18. An arrangement

She kept Fenris at her side throughout the next day, and though he seemed disconcerted and confused, he did not protest. She had her reasons, and had no urge to try and explain them to him. They'd condemned him, thought him capable of killing her, and the only thing she could think of was to be very clear that she thought no such thing of him. It had the sadder side effect of keeping Anders away, though. And as the sun reached its peak, she realized with some concern that she had not seen Zevran. "Have you seen him?" She asked Fenris timidly, worried about how he might construe her concern. His eyes when they met hers were shadowed, cautious. "He was here until we got you to the Estate. Beyond that, I do not know." He shifted restlessly. "Hawke is unconcerned, so I had not given it thought."

He'd armored up again, to her sighing acceptance. He'd bathed before she'd awoken, and was folded into a chair by the fire when she awoke, dehydrated and queasy. He'd wordlessly given her a glass of water and gone to the door to alert Bodahn, who'd scurried off to fetch food. Fenris now sat by the fire going over the leather bindings on that giant sword, quiet, but very aware, concentration radiating off him like heat from a candle. She managed to get out of bed and wobble her way to the bathing room, re-emerging clean and bathrobed and sat silently near him to braid her hair. She didn't try to coerce him into conversation. She felt it was likely that long patches of silence were a given in his company. She took one of her journals to the fire with her, and wrote, quietly, for a while before realizing that he was watching her. She looked up self conscious and unsure. "Yes?"

He immediately looked down at the sword. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You didn't. Why were you-?"

He shrugged, his jaw tight, very obviously unwilling to pursue this line of questioning. "It is nothing."

"We're you wondering what I wrote?" She surrendered the book, willingly. "You can see, if you like."

He took the book reluctantly, glancing at it, then looking perplexed. "Poetry?" he asked warily.

"Well – no. Lyrics. For a song. I've had a song going through my head since yesterday, I thought if I wrote down what I remembered-" She was suddenly self conscious. "It's probably very strange, to you. I didn't write it. I'm just remembering."

He handed it back. "Read it to me."

She blinked. "There's only the one page."

"I cannot read."

He was uncomfortable – _so _uncomfortable, and she stifled her immediate urge to drag information out of him, to try and soothe him. "Ah." She looked back down at the book. She cleared her throat. "My voice is not wonderful."

She read out what she'd written, falling into a recital cadence, looking back up shyly when he was silent afterwards. "Like I said – it would be strange to you, I think."

He nodded slowly, brow gathered. "She – kills him. The girl who sings."

"She does." She looked back down at the page. "I think our music was a good deal less straightforward than here." She wrote another verse or so, then bit her lip and looked up. "Fenris?"

"Yes?"

"I could teach you. If you want. I have _so _much time here on my own – you'd be doing me a favor."  
>His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened, and her heart sunk. "Why?" He asked, his voice tight and angry. "What do you gain? Is it pity that makes you offer?"<p>

"_No_!" She snapped at him, louder than intended, and he tensed. "I offered because I want to be _some _use to _someone_!" He opened his mouth to speak and she cut him off. "Fine. Forget I offered. If being in my company is _so _repellant to you, then I'm not going to make you suffer through it." She hunched over her book, shutting him out, irritated and depressed. He sat silently for a moment for moment, before speaking, his voice tired. "That was not my intention. I would welcome your help, though I suspect I won't be an easy student." He met her eyes, wary. "If you can tolerate me, I will do my best."

She considered him for a moment. "It will take time." She said quietly. "Where I come from, an important part of childhood is being read to by your parents. Perhaps you will be able to by that - point."

He looked startled, then a touch overwhelmed. "I keep forgetting."

"I never do." She looked back to her book. "Will you come over here? I can't show you what I'm doing when you're over there."

He set the blade aside, getting up and crossing the carpet towards her. She involuntarily held her breath as he folded down beside her, a safe distance away. His scent was cool and instantly familiar; it made her skin prickle. She swallowed and hope her discomfort wasn't too obvious. She wrote his name, carefully in capital letters. "This is your name."

"It's – angular."

"That isn't appropriate?"

His lip twitched. It was faint, but definitely there. "Perhaps." He traced his fingers over the page. "Write me yours."

Zevran came back to the house late and Hawke intercepted him in the main corridor. "What was that about?" He asked flatly, sending Sandal scurrying away a safe distance. "You just take off? I expect that from Fenris, _not _you. I need to be able to rely on you."

Zevran looked rattled. He was still wearing his Calemides costume, minus the hat and ridiculous overcoat, and his eyes were tired and dark. "Ah. Hawke. Ever the host."

"Don't." Hawke said curtly. "Where were you?"

"In truth? Halfway up Sundermount and feeling very sorry for myself. Nothing that some sleep and a bath cannot fix." He went to move past, and Hawke halted him with an upraised hand. "This is about the whorehouse?"

"What do _you _think?" Zevran responded wearily. "She was in my care, and I could not stop them leaving with her. I failed. It is only due to everyone _else _that she is safe."

"That's called teamwork, Zev." Hawke said. "And what would have happened if you'd tried to take a stand in the Blooming Rose? A handful of dead whores is my guess."

Zevran shrugged it off. "Not now, Hawke. Let me stew for a while, and I am sure I will be bearable again in no time." He turned away. "She has awakened?"

"Yes, _and _asked about you, and no one had any answers. She's been holed up with Fenris all afternoon. I guess you'll have to wait until she emerges and asks again."

Zevran had looked back, surprise on his tired face. "With _Fenris_?"

"As I said."

"Hm! That _is _unexpected." He went for the staircase. Hawke watched him warily from the foot of the stairs. "You seem unconcerned."

"I'm always unconcerned, Hawke." He quirked an eyebrow back over his shoulder. "Will you be needing me at any point soon?"

"I'm revising as we speak. Think I'll take some of the others. Merrill needs a forcible outing."

"Hear, hear. I will be having a bath." He stopped, looking back down at Hawke. "You seem tense."

"_What?" _

"I'm just touched that you are so concerned. That is all." He turned back to the stairs. "You _should _know by now that I am indestructible."

"I sincerely hope you don't believe that."

"Hm." He disappeared from sight. "Later, Hawke."


	19. Interlude

Her body, legitimately roughed around repeatedly for the last few days took a fair while to recover. And although she looked herself over thoroughly, and tensed up at every unexplained twinge, she felt no real indicator of the baby – babies – inside her. It bothered her, though she didn't mention it to Anders, who appeared to be getting progressively more morose whenever she saw him. Prohibitively so. She wasn't comfortable with him, and he didn't try to chat to her or involve her – and it hurt, and she didn't know how to fix it. So she didn't try, spending what time Hawke could spare him with Fenris. That wasn't an overly comfortable experience either, though a good deal less miserable. Despite his insistences to the contrary, he was a fast learner, and she was getting better at gauging his non-verbal responses and adapting her rudimentary teaching style to suit him. His writing took a good deal longer, though she realized suddenly – and belatedly – that he'd been using the wrong hand.  
>"Oh – Fenris. I'm so sorry. You really should write with your right hand."<p>

"You write with your left."

"Yes, but _most _people don't."

"What governs that choice?" He didn't look particularly impressed with her, and she couldn't blame him.

"You're born with a dominant hand. We all are."

"But yours is your left."

"It is. I think my parents must have been lefthanders." She winced. "I assume." She watched him switch hands, flexing his fingers to adjust his grip. "What – do you remember?"

He was silent for so long she thought he'd chosen not to respond. "Nothing of my family. If I ever had one."

She considered that, watching him glare down at the paper with a painful level of concentration. She was wary, when she spoke. "Do you believe – it will come back? In time?"

She half expected him to snap at her, or get up and leave, but he just sighed, deflating a little. "I do not know." He said quietly. "What little fragments I do have make me think – that I would be better off without the knowledge. But I _must _know. I cannot go through life with such a – gaping void behind me." He flicked his eyes back at her, then back down to the safety of the page in front of him. "I do not know how you take it so calmly."

She didn't really know how to answer. "I don't. But if I act like I do, it – helps."

He went back to his writing. She assumed he'd dropped the subject, and reached for the completed page. His fingertips brushed her hand, and she jumped. "I will help you. Whatever you wish me to do, I will do it."

She blinked at him. "Thank you, Fenris."

He'd pulled back from the contact immediately, and went to stand. "I won't take up any more of your time."

She recognized the point where his level of discomfort got the better of him, and didn't try to stop him. She went to stand, and winced. "Could you – maybe before you go-?"

He turned back to her, momentarily mystified, before his brow came down. "Ah. I'd forgotten." He offered a hand, and she pulled herself up, swaying a little. She didn't hurt too much, now, but her balance was still dreadful and she got dizzy at the slightest provocation. She closed her eyes, raising her free hand to her forehead. His hand tightened. "What? Are you all right?"

It alarmed her, that she heard that much fear in his voice. She hastened to reassure him. "Yes, yes – I'm just dizzy. It'll pass in a moment."

She avoided referencing her constantly feeble state, and the odd pastiche of remorse, anger, regret and helplessness that flitted across his face reminded her why.

"Fenris, please. We've done this. You saved my life. _How _you did isn't important."

He let her go. "That isn't sufficient."

"It will have to be." She gave him as serious a look as she could muster. "Because I've got no interest in you holding onto this. We need to be able to be on equal footing. Don't we have better things to be doing than beating ourselves up?"  
>He shook his head once, sharply. "I can't argue this with you. You don't understand." He turned to go, and she was irritated enough to call after him. "Perhaps if you talked to me about it I <em>would<em>."

He chose not to respond to that, and it left her disgruntled and bad tempered as she carefully angled herself back down to the lounge. The last few days had been hard on her – she'd had Fenris, admittedly, and it was good that she was finally starting to relax a little in his presence, but it was still nowhere near what she'd call friendly company. She missed Anders, and missed Zevran, and felt suffocated by the confines of her room. With Warburton in close attendance, she came out into the corridor to hear Hawke, distantly, say something in passing to Fenris, who responded curtly before closing the heavy front door behind him. She leaned heavily on the bannister to see Hawke come into the downstairs lounge area and look up at her. "Would it help if I said I think he's come a long way?"

She sighed. "Hawke, can I ask a favor?"

"Course you can. What do you need?"

"I want to go see Orsino."

He folded his arms. "I'm not going to have this conversation yelling up at you. No – don't move, I'm coming up there." He went for the stairs. "What makes you think about this _now_?"

"Because if I spend another day sulking in my room I'm going to scream."

"Good a reason as any." He came up onto the landing, and pointed at the windowseat behind her. "To be honest, I'm mostly logistically concerned about how weak you still are."

"And I'm not going to get any stronger sitting in a dark room." She obediently sat down. "I don't want to _act _like I'm made of glass. I need to actually push myself."

He leaned back on the bannister, scratching his short beard. "The choice is yours, obviously. I'm a little worried about the repercussions, but –"

"As in, Anders?"

"He's good at hiding. I'm not worried about him. Fenris might – overreact."

She closed her eyes. "Hawke – I can't simultaneously keep three men happy. I just can't."

"I don't think "Fenris" and "happy" entirely fit together, but yes, I get your point. I just wanted to warn you. He might – you know. Take it as something of a betrayal."

"He's an adult." She said curtly. "And he at least knows how it is to want to find answers."

Hawke shrugged. "It's your call. You know I've got a sister in the Circle, right?"

"Bethany?"

"That's the one. You can come with me when I visit her. I'm not thrilled with being seen in public with you - don't look at me like that, I meant for _your _sake – but I don't really have anyone else I could send with you. Varric would have been a good option but his ribs are still bad. Anders, no, Fenris, definitely not, Zevran –"

"Is avoiding the Circle after killing someone in there a few years back." She jumped a little – it'd been a few days since she'd seen him, and Hawke turned a little to look back at Zevran leaning into the doorframe behind him. "I _have _mentioned before about eavesdropping in the house."

"You have, friend." Zevran looked back to her, eyebrows raised. "And how do you fare, Princess?"

She was flustered, taken aback to find him there, relieved to see him but increasingly indignant that he hadn't spoken a word to her for several days. "Lily." She corrected stonily. "And I'm fine."

"Ah. I deserved that."

Hawke gave him a sour look. "We aren't _all _so forgiving when you up and leave with no warning. I did tell you there'd be consequences." He looked back at Lily. "I'm going to head out this afternoon. I'll come fetch you then?"

She nodded. "Thank you."

Hawke turned and started back down the stairs, leaving Zevran gazing at Lily and Lily staring resolutely at the floor. "I'd best start with an apology, I expect."

Lily shrugged. "You aren't answerable to me. You don't owe me anything."

"Now, now. Don't be like that. Perhaps I wouldn't mind being answerable to you?"

She glared at him. "Are you _actually _trying to apologize, or not?"

He looked fleetingly pained. "It's not something I do often, pet. Try to understand. And I don't believe I did the right thing by leaving it so long. Does that suffice?"

She begrudgingly acceded that. "I suppose so."

"Graciously accepted. And thank you. I've missed you. Dare I hope you've missed my company?"

She still wasn't entirely happy with him – but also annoyed with herself for feeling like he had an obligation to come and see her, and her response was mixed. "I – wondered where you were."

"Typically cautious response. Are you too annoyed with me to allow me to sit with you?"

She considered, and shifted across on her seat to give him room, looking away as he came over and folded one leg underneath the other, facing her, settling his long golden hands on the band of leather across the top of one boot. He squinted sideways at the uncovered window behind them, winced, and pushed at the curtain a little to shield them from outside. "An occupational habit." He demurred, looking back to her. "You are aware that our little adventure at the Rose did not go according to plan, yes?"  
>"Uh, yes. I'd gathered."<p>

"Now it wasn't a catastrophe by any means – obviously you were intercepted, and this is _why _we involve multiple people, but I'm accustomed to working alone. If I _had_ been alone, then you being carried off like that – it would have been the last of you, and it would have been my fault. It took everything I had not to cause a scene to get you away from him. I had to just trust that Hawke had the outside under control, which is _very _alien to me. And even when we _did _retrieve you, I wonder if perhaps I had done something differently, it might not have come to – this."

"He didn't hurt me." She said immediately. "It scared me, and it felt – dreadful, but I didn't hurt."

"I never thought Fenris killed you." Zevran said soberly. "But I _was _concerned as to what your body might do with a shock like that. Where do things lie if you miscarry? I'd rather not summon the witch back to find out."

It actually hadn't occurred to her. She folded her knees up under her chin, suddenly cold. "Right."

"I don't want to scare you, pet. And obviously you are your own woman and whatever else, but allow me the luxury of worrying that you put yourself in harm's way. You gave me a nasty shock and I felt the need to retreat a while to regain my equilibrium. Does that contextualize this, for you?"

She nodded, looking down at her knees. "It does."  
>"Am I forgiven?"<p>

"You are, but let me know you're okay _before _you disappear into the ether, please." She shifted uncomfortably; suddenly aware of how close he was to her. "I was concerned."

"You never need concern yourself with me, princess. I promise." He considered her for a long moment, his eyes soft. "And what of you? Still delicate, I'm assuming."

"I'm sore." She allowed. "My left side is all bruised from when they dropped me. And I'm still – dizzy. A lot. I don't move around much. I'm hoping getting out of here will help." She gave him a sharp look. "You aren't going to tell Anders or Fenris, are you?"

He shook his head. "It is not their business."

"I – thank you."

"And I'm selfishly glad to have been taken accidentally into your confidence. Hawke has told you a little of what issues the First Enchanter presents, yes?"

She nodded. He looked reassured. "Well and good. Perhaps you might – wish to see me? Once you've returned?"

She gave him a cautious look, and he held up his hands, looking contrite. "Nothing suspicious. I promise. It might just be nice to spend an evening with someone. Whilst I know you haven't been starved for company, I've been rather lonely."

She gave him a sharp sideways look, but saw no real emotion attached to his casual reference to Fenris. She fought the urge to either fidget or blush. "I – Yes. I suppose. If you want to."

It was clumsy. He might have smothered a smirk. She wasn't sure. "Wonderful. I shall await your return." His half-smile disappeared. "Be careful."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Careful of what?"

"In general. Keep your eyes and ears open. Mind who you offend." He touched his fingers to her wrist. "There is nowhere in this city without dangers."


	20. Orsino

It was a colder day than the last time she'd stepped out into the city, and Hawke's insistence that she wear a heavy cloak with a hood didn't seem so ridiculous as he led her down to the Harbor. "Stay close." He reminded mildly. "You're worryingly foreign looking."

She obediently moved closer to his heavily gauntleted arm. "Slavers?"

"Mostly. Common thieves wondering what such a lady might be carrying."

She watched a distractingly dubious looking man start at the sight of Hawke and back into the alleyway beyond. "You make an impression."

"It's sometimes useful." The long flat stones paving the road sloped downward, curling around to the wooden planks around the water. The sea stank. He touched her back and she jumped. "Templars aren't polite at the best of times. Try to bite your tongue and play meek. Can you manage that?"

She wrapped her cloak tighter around her to keep out the cutting ocean breeze. "If I can play a whore I can play a mute."

"Mute's probably a bad idea, but let's hold onto that rough impression until we're across the water." He squinted ahead of them, idly fingering the dark birthmark across his nose. "Ah. They've got Cullen today. Happily that'll forestall any really bad behavior."

"Are they _that _bad?"

"Bad is a generalization. They've been trained to be fighters but also custodians and those are two _very _diverse skillsets. Generally they lean all one way or all the other." The planks creaked under the weight of Hawke's armor. "Alright. Keep your head down."

The man Hawke had identified as Cullen strode forward to meet them, His silver and gold armor blinding. "Good day, Champion."

"Afternoon, Captain." Hawke gave him a half nod of acknowledgement. "The next ferry's leaving soon?"

"It is, at that, in a moment or two. Who's this?" She could feel his curiosity, and looked firmly down at the planks below her feet. Hawke touched her shoulder. "Lily's Ferelden. She knew Bethany a few years back, so I thought I'd take the opportunity to bring her along."

"You're very fortunate to find remnants of your former home so far away." He didn't sound suspicious, but there was a certain – blandness to the way he spoke that made Lily sneak a look up at him. "You'll understand if she undergoes the test, I assume."

Hawke shrugged. "She's no more magic than the fish in the ocean, but you're welcome to check." He glanced sideways at Lily. "This might feel a little odd. Nothing to be concerned about."

She would have liked to ask _what _exactly was going to feel a little odd, but steeled herself when Cullen lightly put a gauntlet on her arm. It felt like a very pronounced case of pins and needles, and left her with goosebumps. Cullen stood back. "Fine. Procedure, you understand."

Hawke took Lily's arm. "No one could ever say you aren't good at your job, Captain."

Cullen's voice was wry. "Don't suppose I could pay you to say that in Meredith's hearing?" He turned back to the edge of the jetty and the large, flat boats lashed up to the side. "I'm heading back to the Gallows myself. I'll see you up to the Circle."

"Kind of you." Hawke guided Lily up to the gangplank. "Wouldn't mind a word after I've seen Bethany."

"By all means." Cullen stepped down into the boat, and offered a hand to Lily to step down. He inadvertently crushed her fingers a little, and she winced into the safety of her hood. Hawke stepping down into the boat made the whole thing rock, and Lily sat down rather fast. Lily looked away from them and down into the water on her left, ignoring the other pair of Templars who stepped down into the boat and the three young women in robes who clambered down to sit across from her. The Templars didn't help them down. They largely ignored them, sitting up the front and laughing loudly about something she didn't catch. The girls sat close together, their hands clasped against the cold wind, silent, caution radiating out from them. One of them was openly staring at the side of Hawke's head, and her neighbor elbowed her sharply. An oarsmen unknotted the mooring ropes and gave the jetty a shove with his boot, and Lily swallowed again her sudden responsive nausea. She wondered if she had always had seasickness, or if it was pregnancy related, or just her relatively weak state. She closed her eyes. "Don't hold your breath." Hawke told her, sounding faintly amused. "Passing out doesn't do much for seasickness."

She inadvertently looked up to find Cullen looking at her. He raised a blonde eyebrow. "I imagine the trip from Ferelden was hellish for you." Caught and unable to politely look away, she swallowed. "It was." She said faintly. "I'm still recovering."

Cullen nodded. "That explains a lot." Ah, he'd noticed her weaving like a drunk. He was disarmingly friendly-looking, she realized, and wondered whether this was something he utilized when dealing with his captive mages. He wasn't looking away. She braced herself for more questioning. "So you knew Bethany? Did you know she had magic, even then?"

Hawke shifted. "Cullen – let's not. There's a whole Blight between then and now."

"I'm just curious about how much the Templar's in Ferelden re-enforce civilian duties."

"They were children, Cullen, and Ferelden folk are brought up to value and protect their friends." Hawke's tone was sharp, though his voice was soft. "Leave it."

Cullen gave Hawke a long, cool look. "As you wish." He sat back, turning his head to the oncoming Gallows, rising jagged and horrific out of the spray. They were built into and around a rocky island, fortified on all sides and seemingly as immovable and uninviting as the stone itself. A gigantic bronze sculpture was braced against the rock on one side, its feet in the water and its head eye level with the battlements, an emaciated figure with his head in his hands. She stared at it in horror. "Is _that _supposed to be a mage?"

Cullen made an odd little noise of amusement. "It's a slave. Kirkwall was built by slavers, many decades ago."

She couldn't tear her eyes from it. "Why don't they take it down?"

"Mainly because that would be expensive and time consuming, but mostly because they hold a mechanism to raise a chain net between them, in the case of invasion."

She blinked. "Them?"

"Look behind you."

She looked back to the harbor they'd left, and found the statues twin, looming over Darktown, half shrouded in smoke. She didn't think she'd ever seen anything like it.

"It's revolting."

Cullen gave a humorless laugh. "Yes, well. It's home."

She fell silent, awed and deeply disconcerted by the looming bronze figures, bonelessly relieved when the dock for the Gallows was ducked around the corner and out of sight of the Twins. Cullen helped her out, catching her when she staggered on the jetty. "Are you sure you should be here? A healers had a look at you, haven't they?"

Hawke made a noise of annoyment. "You really think I'd let her out if I thought she'd collapse?" He pulled Lily away from Cullen and took her arm. "She's just a bit weak."

She clutched on to Hawke's metal arm and kept her eyes down, breathing slowly, trying to ignore the Templars that were hauling the other girls unceremoniously out of the boat, releasing them as soon as their feet hit the jetty. One of them stumbled and dropped to her knees, her fellow mages swiftly ducking in to help her stand again. One of the Templars muttered something to the other two, and they laughed. The girl who'd fallen hunched into her cloak and let the other two girls shepherd her towards the huge white marble steps.

The courtyard of the Circle was at least more pleasant, shut off from the cold wind and paved in long flat plates of white granite and some type of rose-colored stone. The motif of slaves was still everywhere – holding up the pillars, crouched along rooftops like wretched gargoyles, and every one made her feel marginally more ill. Cullen was watching her – she could feel his stare on the side of her face like the sun. He waved to a pair of Templars standing guard in front of a large gridded gate, and they saluted him and dragged them open, creating an incredible noise and setting Lily's teeth on edge. Hawke herded her through. "Up for some stairs? There's rather a lot."

Someone called Hawke's name while Lily leaned heavily on a bannister and wheezed, and she turned, blinking in surprise, as an incredibly pretty black haired girl detached from a passing crowd and bounced towards him, pastel blue robes fluttering along behind her. "Hawke! You elusive bastard, come here." She threw her arms around him and cuddled him, before detaching with a noise of irritation. "Really? Armor, in here?"

"Old habit."

"If that ferry capsizes, you'd go _straight _to the bottom."

"Then I'm lucky I have a magey sister to haul me out."

"_Magey?" _She whacked his arm with a clang, before seeming to realize that Lily was standing awkwardly nearby. "So who's this, brother?"

Cullen was still watching them, Lily realized, from a distance. Hawke straightened a little and put a gauntlet to Lily's back. "Beth, I can't believe you don't recognize Lily! It's been a few years, admittedly, but I don't think she's aged a day since Lothering."

Bethany was smart. The ease with which she caught on suggested she'd done this before. She ducked a little to peer under Lily's hood. "Maker help me – Lily! It _is _you!" She flew at Lily, who staggered under the sudden embrace and remembered belatedly to hug her back. She smelt like strawberries. Hawke's sister released her, breathless, a glow of color on her cheeks. Lily felt rather plain and small. "I can't _believe _this! You _must _tell me everything! We can have tea up in the atrium? I'm not needed again for a few hours." She didn't allow Hawke room to respond, grasping his gauntlet and hauling him towards the upward staircase. "This is absolutely marvelous!"

As soon as they were encased in the cool, silent staircase, Bethany released him. "Okay. So why are you really along, Lily? You aren't a mage."

"She's been invited by Orsino. Nothing dubious, but I don't want to pull too much attention to her."

Lily, who hadn't said a word, thus far, cleared her throat a little. "I didn't realize I'd be so much trouble."

"Only because I'm choosing to _make _the trouble in the hope it diverts more later on. Never you mind."

"Heard a lot about you, Lily." Bethany looked back down over her shoulder. "I – sort of want to congratulate you, but not sure I should."

Hawke sighed. "Bethany."

"It's the truth."

Lily shrugged wearily. The stairs were starting to wind her again. "It's fine. Thanks."

"There, see? She doesn't mind." They stepped up onto a landing, the walkways few doors conspicuously guarded by Templars. She lowered her voice. "Not going to be able to hide her visit from the door guard though."

Hawke shrugged. "I'll take what I can get." He raised a hand to the nearest Templar, a rosy cheeked looking fellow who couldn't have been much older than Lily herself. "Ho, there. Care to ask Orsino if he's willing to entertain a visitor?"

The Templar seemed completely unconcerned by Hawke's appearance. "I daresay he'd be happy to receive you, Champion."

"Not _me. _Lily here. He invited her."

"Right." He was unphased. Lily wondered why all the subterfuge had been necessary. "A moment."

Hawke turned to Bethany once the Templar had disappeared into the chamber. "You coming along?"

Bethany winced. "Oh no. It's like hanging around with your teacher. You just – don't."

Hawke looked back to Lily. "I'll leave you be, then. Don't leave with anyone but me, yes?"

She'd barely nodded when the Templar's sandy head reappeared around the door. "He's been expecting you, mam." He stepped back to hold the door open for her, giving Hawke a nod of recognition. "Right this way."

It felt odd to be alone with strangers, though Orsino seemed authentically pleased to see her when she was led through to his massive study, it's walls so lined with books she felt like if she sneezed she might bright the walls down. He ushered her close to the fire before going to pour her some tea. "I must say, I wasn't sure you'd come."

"Hawke saw me across." She said, trying not to visibly shiver as the heat started to seep through her layers of clothing. "I wouldn't have come on my own."

"Nor should you. I'd advise that you shouldn't be going _anywhere _in this city alone, but I daresay our Champion has told you something similar." He offered her tea, and she accepted gracefully. "He's gone to see Bethany, I expect."

"Yes." She sipped, and burnt her tongue. "How long has she been here?"

Orsino considered, a slight crease between his brows. "Two – three years? Heavens. Time flies." He gave her the barest of smiles. "We're lucky to have her. She has a way with children that we sorely need."

"She's so _pretty_." Lily said wistfully, before coloring a little with mortification.

He – winced. "I am aware. Sadly it falls to us to try and – keep an eye on her." He looked down into his tea. "To be attractive and also a captive is a precarious place to be."

Lily stared at him for a moment. "Does Hawke know about your concerns?"

"He is not blind, and he is very aware of the internal issues of the Circle. I suspect it's why his visits are frequent and usually fully armored." He gave a tense, half smile. "He has no fear of the Templars, and it is good for them to see that some do not." He shook the thought off, visibly. "But Kirkwall politics are not your problem. Come. How can we best address this amnesia of yours? May I take a closer look?"

She blinked at him. "What?"

"I'm not going to _do _anything, I'd just like to know if what is blocking you is magical or psychological." The look he gave her was measured and careful. "I assume much because of your association with Hawke. You have some experience with magic?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "I've been healed. That's really it."

"Ah. This is not as intrusive. Though it may feel a little odd." He set his teacup aside. "Do you mind?"

She put her teacup aside, setting her jaw. "It won't take long?"

"Three breaths, perhaps." He held out a long hand to her. "I can do without, but it will be faster if you allow me to touch you."

Feeling distinctly strange, she rested her fingers in his palm, and he closed his hand lightly over hers. "Try and relax."

It was over fast. An odd prickle, like pins and needles racing over her scalp, a sudden burst of warmth radiating out from inside her ribs, and she slumped back in the chair when he released her. She was winded, for no apparent reason. He was staring at her with a look of complete surprise. It wasn't reassuring. "What did you – find?"

His brows came down. "Something unexpected. Though what, I could not say." He turned away from the fire, tea apparently forgotten. "I pulled out some appropriate texts a few days ago – though I think I'll need a few more." He turned and pointed at a bank of purple, leatherbound tomes arranged along a far wall. "Will you fetch the 2nd and 7th volumes from the Antiquarians, please?"

She stood a little too fast and wove her way across the rug to the bookcase. Thankfully, he appeared to be preoccupied with something else and didn't pass comment. By the time she'd heaved the two volumes back to his desk, he'd flicked open two different books and was delicately running his fingers over the body of text, eyes narrow. He shifted a stack of notebooks at one side to allow her room to set the books down. "Why don't you pull that chair over here, my dear. This might take a while."

It felt very – normal – to be huddled up against a desk, with piles of books, the smell of aged leather, the softer scent of guttering candles. And Orsino was a very pleasant study partner – sharp, patient, and very tolerant with her questions. She'd discovered a blank notebook amongst the clutter around them, had shyly offered to notetake, and been inordinately pleased when he retrieved the notebook and made pleased noises over it. "Heavens, you're writing is easier to follow than mine. You must have worked on research before, yes?"

She shrugged. His mouth tensed into a mild apologetic grimace; he'd forgotten, again, and she held no particular ill feeling over it. He set the notebook down. "Lily – may I propose something?"

She gave him a wary look. "Yes?"

"I am between research assistants at the current time. You'd mentioned your dissatisfaction with being at Hawke's mercy – perhaps you'd like to work with me? I'd make it worth your while." He shifted a little in his chair to face her, lacing his fingers on the open pages of the book in front of him. "And your companions are busy people with dangerous lives. Perhaps it will reassure you to have someone to answer any and all of your questions."

She blinked at him for a long moment, deeply conflicted and deeply flattered. Fenris would kill her. _Anders _would kill her. Hawke would be perplexed. Zevran would be wary. There were many, _many _reasons why she should not undertake such a thing. Her mouth tightened into a thin line.

"It would be a pleasure, Orsino." She said, offering a hand that he readily took. "Thank you for asking."


	21. Comfort

"She did _what?_"

"I'm only telling you because I don't want you to splutter and rant when _she _tells you. Like you are now, incidentally." Hawke folded his arms, raising his eyebrows at an Anders who was oscillating wildly between pale and furiously red. "It's her prerogative. And none of your business."

"She doesn't _realize_ –"

"And that'd be a very quick path to getting a door slammed in your face. She _has _realized that at Orsino's side and up to her neck in Templars is really, relatively speaking, one of the safer places in Kirkwall to be."

"They're _Templars_!"

"And she is _not _a mage." Hawke said firmly. "You know how I feel about this, Anders. The Circle isn't perfect, and it can be abused. But so could the City Guard, so could any military order. And however you feel about Orsino, if he's capable of keeping a few hundred mages in line and out of trouble, then he can keep her safe." Hawke gave Anders a long, hard look, and the mage sagged a little. "Let her have some independence, Anders. She won't thank you for smothering her."

"I know." He said, deflated. "I know, I just – Maker, Hawke, I'm so tired."

Hawke put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on. You look like a damn scarecrow, when was the last time you ate?"

Anders looked dazedly up at the roof. "Oh, I don't know. I forget. I have so many people to look after, these days."

"We're going to the kitchen, mage. Move it." Hawke shoved him lightly. "Any decision made on an empty stomach will be a bad one."

Lily came back to her rooms energized, very awake, with an armful of books and the drive of someone who's finally been given a project. It was with a guilty start that she remembered Zevran, and glancing quickly into the darkening sky outside, she moved through to the bathing room to get the pipes heating. The room tended to steam up very fast, and she took the opportunity to strip out of her gown and set it aside, winding her hair up onto her head and tentatively probing at the much smaller lump on her head. The bruising was very nearly gone, though it still hurt to touch. Her hip was a far sadder mess, mottled with yellow and purple. She brushed her inner arm across her chest as she reached up to fetch a towel from the racks, and immediately squeaked in pain, eyes watering. She leaned against the wall for a moment before bending to pick up the dropped towel. Her image in the mirror startled her – the nipples were _dark_, and sore looking, and the very slightest touch made her wince. She was fairly sure that hadn't been the case this morning. A cold burst of realization made her close her eyes and exhale – this was it, the beginning. The first physical alteration of many. She felt suddenly, deeply sick, and dropped the towel over the mirror before turning to the bath.

She was tempted to plead sick and keep to herself for the night, as she carefully laced herself into the blessedly supportive bodice of a pale green gown and moved for the door. She wasn't sure why. She was at serious risk of falling asleep, bone tired and sore, but she wanted to – needed to – push her boundaries a little so she got used to more in the way of activity. And she supposed in a perverse sort of way, Zevran was very logically who you'd go to if you needed boundaries pushed. She found his door and tapped on it quietly. There was no response, and she tentatively pushed the door open, padding into the startlingly rich living area of Zevran's apartments. She stood and stared for a moment, her eyes adjusting to the low light – there were paintings, _beautiful _paintings, thick, luscious carpets and a few intimidatingly large animal furs. The fire was built up but set behind a patterned screen, the light fragmented and soft as it scattered over the carpet in front of it. She could smell the leather and metal of his armor, with the warm comfort of woodsmoke and the softer, drifting scent of sandalwood. "Zevran?" She asked quietly into the empty room. She closed the door behind her and crept towards the fire. Where was he? She wondered if he might do something ridiculous like come bounding out from behind something and surprise her. God, she hoped not. She'd probably faint. Her nerves were frayed, these days. She traced the far wall along, treading softly, eyes huge, to the door beyond, ajar and spilling a long blade of light onto the floor.

The room was a mirror of her own bathing room, white marbled and full of steam, the mirrors fogged and the air hot and heavy. She squinted around the corner of the door. "Zevran?" She asked quietly.

There was the sound of water shifting, and a soft murmur of noise, and Lily warily opened the door further, hoping to dispel a little of the steam to clear her vision. If he'd managed to fall asleep in there, she'd better wake him. Didn't people drown in bathtubs? It'd be a highly inglorious end to the Crow, and she imagined he wouldn't appreciate it. She could see the bath, a long golden arm hanging over the edge, a blonde head resting on the marble edge. "Zevran." She said, feeling ridiculous. "_Wake up_."

He visibly flinched, and his head rolled to one side. His eyes were barely open. "Oh. Lily. Can I assume that you are not ambushing me and I am merely very late?"

She looked away from him, feeling relatively confident that he'd probably just climb out of the bath with no consideration for whether she was there or not. "Um, late. I'm afraid. You were asleep."

"And here was me hoping you'd decided to take advantage of my vulnerability. Ah, well. Perhaps next time." He touched fingers to his forehead, and she noted uneasily that he had a long, thin cut down a forearm. "Could I trouble you to fetch me that robe?"

She had a moment of annoyance that he was so openly pulling her closer to the bath, and then thought better of it. She carefully crossed the slick tiles and gathered up the red robe. "Are you – okay?"

He gave her a slightly rueful smile. "Ah, princess. You are sweet. Yes, I am okay, though sore and feeling rather delicate."

"What happened?" She came closer and stopped a few feet away, unsure how to approach this. He had the grace to not draw attention to her discomfort. "Nothing of concern. A run in with some types who should have known better. A touch more talented than my usual, but ultimately –" he shrugged, and the water shifted around his ribs. "Heaven forbid I make you uncomfortable, pet, but could I trouble you to come closer? In case I am unsteady."

Her mouth twitched. She couldn't help it. "Unsteady, hm?"

He smirked. "It would be the clumsiest ploy if it were a lie. Come now, I promise not to wet your lovely dress." She looked down to her feet as he – awkwardly – climbed out, and opened the robe for him. He toweled off the excess of water before stooping a little so he could step into the robe. "Thank you, pet. You are very tolerant."

She gave him an incredulous look, feeling a good deal safer now he was covered. "What were you expecting? I'd drop the robe on the floor and leave you to your own devices?"

"It is good to know that you at least appear to be feeling better." He touched a hand lightly to her back to usher her back into the loungeroom. "I have a burning need for brandy, though I'll admit to it being selfish."

The lounge was cooler, and she fanned her face a little in relief. "I don't like brandy. It's fine."

"More for me, and how glad I am." He turned away from her, heading for a cabinet next to the fireplace, and she noted with consternation that he was limping a little. She followed him, frowning. "Zevran. I can pour that. Why don't you sit down?"

He looked back over one shoulder, eyebrows raised. "I promise it is not as bad as it appears. I've stiffened up a little from being asleep. It's nothing."

"I don't believe you." She folded her arms. "Sit down."

His lip twitched. "What a fierce little thing you've become in my absence. Do I have Fenris to thank for this, hm?"

"Stop stalling. _Sit_." She glared, and he managed to stifle his amusement on his way back to the lounge. "Fine. _Fine. _Only because I am suitably disarmed. I would usually stall for _weeks _before I allowed someone to see me with wet hair."

She fought a smirk and failed. "Oh, you look fine. A bit – artistic, but fine."

"Shush. Just you wait until you get in a colossal fight and wake with me chortling at you the next morning."

She found appropriate glasses, and puzzled over the row of bottles before selecting one. "Hasn't that – already happened?"

"Ah. How sad. This leaves us with nowhere to go."

"I'm sure we'll figure something out." It was so – _easy_, talking to him like this. When had that happened? Was it having the upper hand, or just being in a better frame of mind due to the elation of finally having something to devote her time to? She looked down into the brandy glass. "You should know. About me going to the Circle today."

"I wondered if you would choose to share with me. Was it all you hoped?"

"It was – uncomfortable. I understand why it upsets Anders so much." She gave him the glass, and folded herself onto the couch, a safe distance away. "Are all Circles the same?"

"They are. The Templars being the primary reason. Troublesome and self-righteous, the whole pack. I am firmly unimpressed with them." He drank deeply. "And our First Enchanter? Was he as engaging as you might hope?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"He's a rather arresting looking creature, I'll grant you, but –"

"No no." She hastened. "_No. _Definitely not. If nothing else I'm fairly sure he's _far _too old. He's looking into my amnesia for me. Research-wise." Was he _serious_? His eyes were big and unassuming. She glared at him. "Though why I'd feel compelled to throw someone _else _in this mess is beyond me."

He shrugged. "Perhaps you are voracious. I _hope. _He is not – aware of your situation, is he?"

"No. He knows I'm with Hawke and have amnesia, and that's all. I'm not planning on – telling him."

Zevran looked uncommonly serious, eyes narrowed as he sipped his drink. "You are seeing him again, then?"

"Ah – yes. I'm his research assistant now. I'll be visiting three days in the week." She looked away, unsure what his response would be. There was only silence, and his eyes on her, head tilted. "You have been busy."

"I wouldn't go that far. I just – I _need _to be doing something. I'll go mad in that room for months."

"You needn't explain yourself to me. I should be thankful that who you _have _chosen to occupy yourself with is relatively beyond reproach." A line appeared between his brows. "You _are _aware, that once you begin to – show – there may be some rather serious implications in regards to Orsino?"

"What?"

"You are visiting him regularly, and then become rather noticeably pregnant? Come, princess, try to think more sordidly."

"Why does it matter?"

"Because mages in the Circle are not permitted to procreate." He said with very careful patience. "If the Templar's intervene, they may try and retrieve what they consider to be Orsino's child from you after birth."

She stared at him, mouth open. "That's _barbaric_!"

"Welcome to Thedas, pet." He drained his glass. "You _may _just have to warn Orsino. If the templars are aware of your state right from the get-go, perhaps it will forestall problems. Something to talk to Hawke about." He gave her an odd look of sympathy. "But I've worried you. Princess, I apologise. I'm advising caution, not panic or concern."

She huddled down into the cushions a little, suddenly cold. "Everything concerns me. I don't _know _what is serious and what isn't." She suddenly remembered something. "Zevran. I – Fenris gave me a wristblade. When we – you know."

Zevran's mouth twitched. "Yes?"  
>"Can you teach me how to use it? I have no idea. And I think I probably should."<p>

She reached for the glass, and he surrendered it willingly. "What an interesting idea. I haven't taught anyone how to fight for _years_. May I handle you in controversial ways and wrestle you to the floor?"

She turned and stared at him from the cabinet. "How does that tie in to knives?"

"It all ties in together, princess. It's also rather important that you don't tell Anders. I'm confident in my ability to pose no danger to you, but I don't think he's so trusting."

She brought the glass back to the lounge, and he accepted it with a smile that made her uncomfortably warm. He patted the lounge, and she acceded and sat beside him. He dropped an arm over her shoulders, and she shivered involuntarily. He was so _warm. _Ridiculously warm. "Does this make you uncomfortable, pet? You looked cold."

"Ah – no. This is nice." She huddled into him a little, and he pulled her weight a little closer to rest her against the inside of his shoulder. He made a soft little noise of contentment. "I wonder how much of your current comfort level is because you believe me incapacitated."

"You mean you aren't?"

"And you almost recoil! I am _sore_, pet, and enjoying the freedom to behave so in company I trust. A wise decision, obviously, considering you are so determined to wait on me." He touched his wet hair, and grimaced. "I really have to do something about this. How unfair that you come to me so lovely and delicate and I am nowhere near presentable."

"I don't think you've _ever _thought yourself unpresentable." She delicately extricated herself. "Where are your brushes?"

"Were you planning on tending to me?"

"Why not? Do you object?"

Zevran's mouth twitched. "And now we move from myself having to very nearly tackle you into bed to you bossing me about. How the tables have turned."

"You did _not _tackle me." She stood, picking her way back to the bathroom. "I could have told you to leave at any point."

"Is that so." His amusement was palpable. "This sounds dreadfully like a challenge, pet."

"A challenge to what?" She'd found a comb – a _lovely _one, actually, all ebony and mother of pearl – and came back into the lounge.

"To test your resolve? Now don't you look at me like that, princess, we've clarified that I will not be molesting you at the current moment. Just idly considering the future." He shifted on the lounge, turning slightly away, and she obediently settled herself behind him, sitting back on her heels to get the height she needed. It was always a slight surprise to realize how broad he was across the shoulders – perhaps Fenris had become the shape she considered normal for an elf. Zevran's hair was about shoulder blade length, a true gold, bright as the sun, half dried from the warmth of the fire and twisted in lazy ribbons around the base of his neck. She delicately extracted a handful and got to work. Zevran drooped drowsily under her ministrations. "So tell me, pet. How did you find the Circle?"

Lily's relaxed mood dissipated. She concentrated hard on his hair. "It's – different."

"To what?"

"Oh, god, I don't know. Normal things. Things that are right. It's horrible."

Zevran sighed. "I did wonder how you'd take it. Most of us have the dubious honor with having a whole lifetime to get used to it. Try and look at the alternatives, love."

"Like what, teach them as kids then send them out into the world? Send the Templars after them if they do something stupid?"

"This is intended to prevent something stupid happening."

"Any idiot can kill someone."

"Any idiot is not capable of killing hundreds before he is caught." Zevran sighed. "Princess. I have made love to mages. I have killed them. I have been friends with them. I have done all these things with Templars, similarly. It is a nightmarish quandary they are caught in. I understand both arguments. My heart bleeds for our Anders. But what can be done? I have seen Circles where the mages and templars co-exist quite happily."

"But they're still captives." Lily exhaled hard. "Sorry. I don't want to start an argument. It just – unsettled me. Orsino more or less admitted that they're having to keep watch over Bethany so she doesn't get raped."

Zevran was still for a moment. "_That _I did not know."

"I can't see how it matters." She settled his hair back n his shoulders. "It's done."

"Thank you, pet." He smoothed a hand over his scalp. "I don't suppose I could trouble you to braid it?"

"Oh, why not." She set the comb aside, shuffling a little closer to reach his temples. "Does this mean I can ask you to do things to my hair later?"

"You certainly may. I'm confident I could create something magical." He touched his fingers to her hand. "Are you all right, princess?"

She battled with her response. "Rattled. That's all."

"You'll have to get used to it. If you intend to visit as often as you say you are."

"I guess so."

He shifted a little on the couch, moving closer to her, assumedly to bring his back in contact with her body, and the very slight motion sent her audibly squeaking and bouncing back away from him. He went still, turning to look at her. "…Lily?"

She'd folded both arms over her chest, her eyes watering. "_Ow. _Sorry, I just – _oow._"

He turned to face her, leaning in, his fingers lightly touching her shoulder. "Are you wounded?"

"_No. _I just – " inexplicably, a surge of emotion swelled in her gut and she swallowed hard. "I'm really tender today."

They looked at each other for a long moment. Zevran's eyes softened. "Oh, love."

She was angry, with herself, and wiped her tears away too roughly, catching a nail on her cheek and making it smart. "It's nothing." She said tersely. "I'm fine."

"You are not. Come, what can I do for you? How can I help?"

She shook it off. "You're hurt. You shouldn't be worrying about me. It's – fine if I don't touch them."

Zevran's head tilted. "Because of your - state."

She nodded once. He made a sympathetic noise. "Then it isn't about the pain, is it?"

His voice was soft with pity, and her eyes responsively filled. "Zevran, I'm not going to stay if you make me cry." She sounded terse and a little choked, and he hastened to reassure her. "No! No. Look. Turn around. Lean on me. Let me rub your back a little and help you relax. Yes? Nothing suspicious, no ulterior motives. I have no qualms regarding looking after a woman at her most – uh – volatile." He gave her a slight smile, and she smiley – shakily – in response. "Take pity on me, princess, and my helplessness. It will make me feel better."

She rewarded him with a shaky smile. "God, I wish I could drink."

"Oh, I do too, sweet. How sad that I've never been able to inebriate you and take shameful advantage." He touched her shoulder blade to guide her back against his stomach. "It will have to wait."

"Nine months?" She drooped a little as his fingers found the nape of her neck. "I had no idea you were so patient."

"Eight." He corrected. "Anders has covered _that, _surely."

"He, um, mentioned." She _had _forgotten. Did this mean she would grow faster, or just not as much? She considered her folded hands, forehead furrowed. Zevran prodded at the muscle buildup around the join of her neck and shoulder. "Hm. Anyone would think you were under some sort of strain."

He startled her into a watery laugh. "Can't imagine what _that _could be."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence – he wasn't quite massaging her, and she suspected his own tiredness played a part in that. Regardless, just being touched was _so _nice. He ran his fingers lazily along the column of her neck, very slightly around her throat, sliding the side of his thumb lightly down the line of her jaw. She shivered. "Zev."

He made a soft noise that might have been amusement, and went back to the relatively safe nape of her neck. "You know elves react like that when you touch their ears. They're rather hypersensitive."

"Really?" She had a sudden hot flash, oh Fenris' hot breath on her neck, how it had shuddered in his throat when her lips brushed his ear. She squirmed uncomfortably. "Right."

"It has disadvantages. I was taught how to make an elf go docile by manipulating a certain point –" He touched the spot behind her ear, where the crescent of bare skin lay- "just there. Sadly it doesn't have the same affect on humans."

"You mean if I –" She half raised an arm to reach up and behind her, and he lightly caught her wrist. "Ah, no, princess. You will not be able to try that on me. I am quite resilient to your wiles."

"But what would happen if I-"

"You would not be so unwise. You do it right, he will collapse in a heap. If you do it wrong, he will merely leap at you, frenzied with lust. I highly advise you not to venture into such areas until you are very sure you know what that entails."

She went still. "I suppose that's good to know."

He nestled into her a little, his thumb drawing idle circles on her captive wrist. "Oh, humans tend to have a similar spot. Somewhere. It changes from person to person. I have some – suspicions about yours, but I would need to test my theories." He turned his head inward, his mouth barely an inch from her ear, his grip on her wrist tightening lightly. "Your pulse is racing."

She swallowed. "Yes."

"You _like _this, don't you?" He squeezed her wrist lightly to prove his point, and she flinched. She had no logical response for that, beyond feeling her face flood with heat. He laughed – _very _softly, his lips resting just barely on the curled shell line of her ear. "You _are _a treasure. There is so _much _I want to try with you. Can you honestly tell me you haven't – considered?"

Oh, she'd considered. And right _now_, her wrist held with his warm fingers, his lips in her ear, his lean, hot body against her back – she swallowed. "Zevran. Please."

He sighed, lightly, and released her wrist. "I do not mean to push."

"You aren't –" She was flustered, and overly warm. "Nevermind. I should probably go."

"Oh, Princess." There was honest concern in his voice, and his hand caught her hip as she shifted to stand, anchoring her. "Don't leave because _I _have overstepped. You haven't enjoyed being here with me?"

She considered. "I have." She said. "But there's – reasons."

She felt him nod agreeably. "I'm aware. Look. Why not stay here, tonight? I am exhausted, as are you. Can we not just-" He shrugged a little. "I would like to hold you. Your presence comforts me."

It felt like an admission, and Lily went still, feeling like something momentous had passed and she hadn't quite understood it. She blinked, warmed and somewhat touched. She turned to look over her shoulder at him. There was no guile, no flirtatiousness, just a very sober and tired Zevran, giving her a look that was hard to decipher. On another person, she would have considered it an entreaty, but on Zevran..? She found herself nodding. "All right. I'll sleep here. Just don't - roll on top of me this time."

His mouth twitched. "How sweet that this is all that concerns you. Oh, I'm _joking, _calm yourself, pet." He leaned in and kissed her, very lightly, almost chastely. "And on _that_ note - I'm suddenly rather eager to go to bed. Shall we? Your blushing suggests that you're going to be rather pleasantly warm to hold onto." She let him assist her up from the couch, not quite irritated, but feeling somewhat outmaneuvered. "I'm moving to the couch if you try anything."

"What, _me?"_


	22. Ultimatum

True to his word, Zevran hadn't tried anything on her – he'd settled her in beside him, curled a warm arm around her and fallen almost immediately asleep, bonelessly slumped again her shoulder. It was – nice, to lie in the dark and warmth with him, his breath stirring the fine hairs down the side of her face. She'd tentatively put an arm over his own, to rest on his ribs, and he'd responsively squeezed her, making a soft noise of contentment before settling.

She'd woken to his hand spread over her stomach, the edge of his hip pressing into the side of her thigh. "Awake, sleeping beauty?"

She opened an eye and looked at him. "At least half of that, yes."

He gave a soft snort of amusement into her hair. "You know I will _never _live this down if word gets out, hm?"

"What?"

"How – chaste – last night was. Now I'm more rested, I'm a little indignant with myself." He propped himself up onto one elbow, his fingers on her stomach sliding around to sit in the curve of her waist. "Did you have plans? For this morning?"

Barely awake and still groggy, she gave him a suspicious look. He was very awake, very relaxed and eying her speculatively. "I – have things to do, if that's what you mean."

"They can't wait?"

She stared at him for a moment, and he stared back, apparently happy to wait for her inevitable questions. "Zevran – no. You can't keep – you know."

He blinked at her, his big dark eyes innocent. "Keep what, Princess?"

Suddenly irritated, she shook off his hand and threw the covers back. "Right. I'm going."

"Why?"

"You _know _why!" She snapped, climbing out of bed awkwardly. "I've _asked _you not to keep pushing me."

"One moment. I was relatively sure _you _were the one who wanted to."

"It's not about what I – oh, for god's sake, forget it. I'm not going to do this again." She was in a foul mood, and borderline teary for emerging from such a warm, cosy experience only to find Zevran poised and ready to try and seduce her again. It offended her that he behaved as if it were only a matter of time. She stomped to the door.

"But princess, how will you learn if I do not teach you?"

She spun. "_What?"_

"It is not safe to attempt to teach yourself. You will get hurt or at the very least develop bad techniques."

She paused, starting to feel like she'd lost the thread of conversation. Zevran was sitting up in bed, arms folded across his raised knees. He was staring at her with mild bemusement on his face. She imagined she looked the same. "What – are you talking about?"

He gave her a slow blink. "Is there no better time like the present? Is there some _other _time you'd like to set about learning how to use that pretty needle strapped to your wrist?"

She leaned heavily against the door. "Is that _really _what you meant? All the way through?"

"You are losing me, pet. All through what?" He stretched, leaning comfortably back on the bedhead, one hand draped across his stomach. Lily swallowed and looked away. "Can I suggest, perhaps, that you go eat and get changed into something more comfortable? Skirts are _not _ideal for this."

And so she'd headed out into the hallway, face burning, deeply put out, and if she honest with herself – more than a little cranky. She was touchy, as far as Zevran was concerned, she knew that. She was too – hyperaware, when he was around. Hypersensitive. She'd didn't particularly know how that could be addressed, if at all. She stopped in her doorway, blinking at Hawke frozen halfway in the act of plucking the grapes from her breakfast tray. He had the grace to look embarrassed. "I'll send up Sandal with more of those."

"I'm not a big grapes person."

"Oh. That's lucky." He tilted his head at her. "Not that I'm your father or anything, but – you _were _in the house last night, right?"

Her blush flamed back to life, and he lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. "A yes or no is fine. You _have _bolted before, that's all."

"I didn't sleep with him." She blurted, and Hawke's eyebrows shot up as she babbled on. "We were – _tired, _and I was confused and uncomfortable about the Circle, and –"

Hawke talked her down. "_Slow down. _It doesn't _matter. _I'm not going to lock you in a room or anything."

"But I _didn't. _I just – don't want you to think I –"She trailed off, her face burning. She was suddenly irritable again. He was in _her _room, for god's sake. She stomped past him to her wardrobe. "Was there something you wanted?"

She could feel his surprise on the back of her neck. "Are you all right?"

She turned to glare at him. "About _what_, exactly?"

Hawke sighed. "This can wait for some other time." He unfolded from the couch. "Eat something. It might improve your temper." He let himself out, and she leaned heavily on the wardrobe. Quashing down the nagging voice that told her she was being unfair, she stripped her dress off and went looking for something appropriate to wear.

Zevran sent her back to her room almost immediately when she grudgingly admitted she'd only eaten an apple. Reappearing at his door for the third time in two days, and by this time in a rather serious temper, he'd admitted her with a big smile. "And _there _is my princess! And positively radiant. Have I mentioned I rather like you in leggings?"

"You couldn't wear a shirt?" She asked bluntly. He was wearing leather pants and was otherwise unclothed, standing barefoot on the carpet.

"You question _me_? This _all _has a purpose, duckling. You need to see how my muscles move. When _I _was trained, we did so naked. I have made accessions." He closed the door behind her and ushered her into the clearing he'd created in the centre of the room. She'd brought her blade with her, and he'd gestured for her to set it aside. She did, and moved to face him, feeling foolish. He cracked his knuckles, worryingly. "And now, pet, we get down to business. I am going to teach you how to break a persons grip on you. _Very _easy. I myself mastered this in an hour."

It took all morning. It wasn't massively strenuous work – contrary to his promise, he had certainly not tackled her – but it was repetitive and made her feel like a bumbling idiot. Zevran, to her surprise and chagrin, was a very strict and finicky teacher, watching her very carefully and correcting her multiple times. When she flagged, or started to visibly sulk – and she _knew _she was doing it, and didn't care – he would cajole her, making some reference to her delicate femininity that made her clench her jaw and square her stance, nodding for him to continue. It was mostly hand grips, being grabbed by the wrist, or by the elbow from behind. The sheer effort of trying to keep her concentration for that long was taxing, and she was still weak from her illness. She was sagging and dizzy by the time he brightly suggested they move on to hair-grabbing. She made a sad little noise, and he cocked his head at her. "Ah, Princess. You've had enough?"

"For one day." She said with as much dignity as she could muster, trying not to obviously lean on the couch arm. "I'm – not as strong as I usually am."

"Fair enough. Go rest. Bathe, eat, look after yourself. Shall we do this again tomorrow morning?"

She nodded, exhaling with relief. "Thank you."

"May I exact a price for these lessons? A small one?" He was tilting his head at her, his eyes half lidded, a slight smile on his face, and she steeled herself. "What?"

"So suspicious." She let him approach her, sliding a hand onto the edge of her hip and pulling her lightly in against him. His bare chest was warm. She allowed it, at least grateful for the support, though his scent and proximity was not helping her spinning head. He folded his hands behind her waist, a lazy, intimate embrace that still allowed clear eye contact. He held her loosely, looking down at her, openly amused. "You _are _a sour creature today. Did I insult you in my sleep?"

She sighed. _Come on, _she told herself. "Sorry." She said grudgingly. "I'm just – moody today."

"I can certainly forgive that. Come here, pet." He leaned in and kissed her, tightening his grip around her waist, pushing her hips in against his. She leaned into him, dizzily registering her fingers spread over the ridges of his stomach, the heat of him thrumming under her palms. He pushed down on her, making her push back, to meet him in the force of his kiss. He pulled away, fractionally, his breath warm on her cheekbone. "And nothing more, Princess." He breathed to her, "until you beg it of me."

She swallowed twice before responding. "This is how I'm paying for learning this."

"It has an interesting kind of poetry. Yes. I like it. My unequalled expertise in exchange for a kiss. But let's take "kiss" as an approximation, hm? I hate limitations."

She gave him a look, and he smiled. "What a prickly, divine little thing you are. Like a succulent hedgehog."

"Zevran."

"My sweet?"

"Just – be quiet."

She got anxious, waiting for Fenris in the mid-afternoon, then irritated with herself for being so. She needed to tell him. If he heard it from someone else, she felt like he'd respond far worse. And she wouldn't be here tomorrow afternoon, so it really had to be from her, and it really had to be now. It didn't help that'd they'd parted angrily, though she found it difficult to believe that he wouldn't come. In less fraught moments, she recognised how important these lessons were for him. She wondered if anyone had ever volunteered to teach him _any_thing. If not, then maybe that explained his odd reaction to her offer. Perhaps he still suspected her motives. She could hear him in the front room, talking – to Hawke, assumedly, he tended not to talk to many unless he could help it – and she steeled herself as she heard him climb the stairs. She knotted her fingers, tense and marginally surly for feeling guilty. Fenris let himself in without knocking, armoured and silvered and beautiful, and went still in the doorway, seeing her standing and probably looking very nervous. Lily cleared her throat. "I thought I'd apologise for yesterday first."

He gave her a long, measuring look. "It wasn't worth apologising for."

"It was to _me. _And I – have something to tell you." She straightened a little, and she felt him tense from across the room. "Are we able to move these lessons to the evenings? I'll be occupied during a few of the days."

His brows were gathering. One gauntlet crunched closed then flexed open again. "Occupied?"

"I'm working." She said, pushing her voice into its lower register so it retained steadiness. "I'm doing research with Orsino three days a week."

The silence was long and electric. Slowly, deliberately, he took a step forward and closed the door behind him. She hoped he hadn't intended it to be as menacing as it appeared. His voice was measured, forcibly calm. It was somehow more worrying. "He offered this to you."

"He did."

"What does he gain?"

She gave him an even look. "A research assistant." She said shortly. "We get along."

He hissed something sharp, in his other language, and she flinched. "You cannot."

"I can, and I am."

"I forbid it."

"How will you stop me?" She snapped. "And what _business _is it of yours? You don't have any claim over me."

His jaw locked. "Then why," he said, his voice like cold chips of flint, "do you seek my permission?"

"I _didn't_! I let you know because we'd have to shift our lesson and I wanted you to hear it from me."

"You go walking into a lion's den, and expect me to just stand and watch?"

"No." She said as calmly as she could manage. "I expect you to respect my wishes."

He glared at her, something raging inside him. "Don't. Don't do it."

"What?"

"Please." It sounded painful. "I'm asking you not to. I cannot protect you there."

"I'm going to be up to my neck in Templars. I don't _need _protecting."

"Do you expect me to beg?" He snapped, suddenly louder, her gauntlets balling into fists. "To grovel and plead and beg you to see reason?"

"It _is _reasonable!" She turned away from him, sharply, pained by the anger in his face. "Hawke doesn't see a problem. I thought you respected his judgement."

"His sister is a mage. His judgement is clouded." He looked down at the floor, strain and concern and impotent fury raging on his face. "I will go with you."

"You hate the Circle."

"So should you."

"You can't, Fenris. I'll be there all day."

"Then I will wait." He said, coldly. "All day."

"You're being unreasonable."

"I have an obligation to keep you safe."

God, she hated when he did that. Like she was a holy sacrificial calf. "You do _not_! You do _not _own me! I'm not just a bloody holding area for _your _daughter! I have the right to be around _other _people. You have no right to act like you're my keeper!"

It was – more venomous than she'd intended. He flinched, visibly, and she oscillated between anger and pity. "Fenris, I don't want to fight with you. Look. Hawke will be with me. I'll be _safe. _I still want to teach you. I enjoy our time here. I don't want it to stop." It was the closest to appealing to his emotions that she'd ever come, and emboldened by his lack of snarling anger, she came towards him. "It's not going to be forever. And I _need _this. I need to be of use. I'm going mad sitting in this room on my own." She risked reaching out and touching the metal over his upper arm. "Can't you understand what it's like to feel like a burden to everyone?"

His eyes shot up and locked on her. "You aren't a burden." He seemed to have deflated, his voice sad and quiet. He turned to leave. She blinked. "Fenris?"

He looked back at her. "When you have recognised the danger in what you do," he said calmly, "and when you decide against it, I will come back to you." And he left – silently, with no door slamming or yelling, and Lily dropped numbly down onto the lounge. She lay silent on her side for a long hour before angling herself back upright, and freezing halfway across the carpet. His daughter. She'd said "his daughter". And she had no idea why.


	23. The girls

She commandeered Sandal. He was evidently happy enough to be along and even knew vague directions, listening to her questions with bright (if glazed) eyes and happily toddling off in the assumed direction of the Alienage. She kept close, taking comfort in the knowledge that Hawke appeared to trust the dwarf implicitly. Someone yelled something at her that she didn't catch, and his comrades laughed, and she kept her eyes down and moved faster to catch up.

The Alienage itself had none of the menace of Lowtown around it – the elves within were clean, but thin, their eyes immediately fixing on her as she awkwardly navigated the steps down. There was a tree, a _huge _tree, and with a start Lily realised it was the first proper tree she'd seen here. Even the scant few she remembered from the Coast had been withered ruins, mostly dead. She stared up into the green canopy with wonder. A soft voice spoke by her hip. "Have you any coppers, maam? My brothers and I are starving." She blinked down at the elven child beside her, her heart flinching away from the hollows of the boys cheeks. "I'm not carrying any money." She said, truthfully. "I'm sorry." He just turned away, shuffling barefoot back into the company of a crouched group of young boys, younger than him. She swallowed, and looked away. Sandal was waving at her from an alcove, and she obediently hurried over. The door was painted red, and was as old as the sandstone the house was made of. She knocked timidly.

Merrill answered with swollen eyes and a very red nose. Her eyes flew open. It was an alarming expression on an elf. "Lily!" She exclaimed. "You can't _be _here!"

"Why not?"

"Because –" she adapted a woeful expression, before rolling her eyes up to the roof. "Come in, then. You can't be hovering out there for everyone to see."

Sandal opted to stand by the front door, and Merrill ushered her in and towards the fire. Her house was sparsely furnished, as if she barely noticed her surroundings, books and long stalks of wheat and forgotten scraps of food lined the mantelpiece. Merrill was agitated. "Twice." She said miserably. "_Twice_ she's come to me and it's been because I'm in your presence. Who's to say it won't happen again?"

Lily self-consciously laced her hands over her stomach. "She's got no reason. Wasn't it more to talk to Hawke than about me?"

Merrill slumped miserably on the hearthstone. "Maker's breath, I don't know. I'm so tired –" She made a sad little whimper into her knees. "You _shouldn't _have come. Anders will think I've put a blood curse on his child or something."

"That's silly." She gingerly lowered herself onto the floor in front of her. "Why aren't you going along with Hawke anymore?"

Merrill shook her head tiredly. "I can't. I don't know how much – of _her _– is left. What if I'm an abomination, now?"

"She's not a demon though, is she? I thought only demons did that."

"No one knows what she is." Merrill deflated. "I can't sleep. I scared of – you know. Her coming back. Waking up to realise I've been – puppeted. Again."

Lily looked at the top of her dark head for a long moment, considering her options. "They miss you." She said carefully. "I know they do."

"Who's _they_? Anders doesn't. Fenris doesn't."

"Hawke does. This all weighs on him, surely you can see that. And Zev misses you. In a – different way, but its there."

She made a noise that might have been half-hearted amusement. "I might be safe to be around him now, since you're here."

Lily's eyebrows went up. "What, he's tried it on _you_?"

"He tries "it" on most people, I think. I pretended not to understand until he got bored." She ran her fingers through her dark hair, defeat in the set of her shoulders. "I don't feel right. I don't feel like I should be fighting alongside anyone. I'm not – reliable. I think. Oh, Maker's breath, I don't know." She slumped forward. "Why did you come?"

"Because I feel responsible." Lily said, carefully. "This is all centred around me, mainly."

"That's true." She said simply. "But that doesn't mean it falls to you to set things right." She stretched out her legs. She looked worn, and small. "How are you? How are the babies?"

Lily winced. "I'm okay, though a bit sore. Zevran's been teaching me to fight. And I 'm going over to the Circle a few times a week to help Orsino."

"Oh, that's very kind of you." She said with a straight face. "Does he have trouble with his laces?"

Lily blinked. "No – research. We're studying together."

"How cozy. He didn't strike me as that friendly."

"He's nice. Smart. Very happy to answer my questions." Lily shook that path of questioning off. "Come back to the house. Think of how relieved Hawke will be."

Merrill flinched. "With you _and _Hawke? In the same building? Ooh, no. That doesn't bode well."

"Then head there on your own." Lily said, starting to get faintly exasperated. "I'll follow you with Sandal."

She looked uncertain. Lily took a breath. "Look. Hawke's not in tonight. Come by after dinner? We'll – have tea. Or something."

Merrill gave her a tremulous smile. "Do you think the girls will mind that? Sharing you. Babies are possessive, you know." She shrugged. "All right. Thank you. I'll come by. But I'm not going to cook anything. Whenever I cook Bodahn takes it off me and I think he feeds it to the dog."

Lily stared at her. "What girls?"

"_Your_ girls. In there." Merrill pointed to Lily's midsection. "You should name them, really, when they're paying you such close attention."

Lily sat down hard on the dusty floor. Her head was spinning. "They're girls." She said faintly. "All three?"

Merrill blinked. "You didn't know? I would have thought Anders would pick it up."

_Anders, _she thought savagely. _I'm going to kill him. _She angled herself back onto her feet, angry and feeling quite sick. "I'm going now." She said, with as much surety as she could manage. "I'll see you after dinner?"

She was too distracted to wait for a response, heading for the door and a startled Sandal, who scuttled along in her wake.

Anders had forgotten to eat. It was a relatively common occurrence. It wouldn't have bothered him, but his body would only hold out on him so long, before the magic refused to come, his head would pound and suddenly there'd be someone nearby helping him into a chair. He cursed his own stupidity, and fretted weakly about who might need him when he was otherwise incapacitated. A man to the right – a refugee, he knew the name, but it wasn't coming to him – pushed a flask of water into his hand. "You need to eat, mage."

"I know." Anders said, defeated and sore and very, very tired. "I'm going to – lie down. Then go up to Hightown. I'll be fine soon." The man gave a curt nod, and without being asked, ducked his head to shoulder Anders' arm around his neck and haul him to his feet. "Get some sleep." He said, not unkindly, when he released Anders with all the grace of dropping a bag of potatoes. "I'll rouse ye if anything should happen."

Thank the Maker for volunteers, he thought blearily, angling himself lengthwise onto the blanketed palette he kept as a bed. He started awake what felt like a bare moment later, and blinked, dazed, at the blonde girl in a white dress in his doorway.

"Anders?" Oh – it was Lily. He wished he'd been awake a little longer before having her suddenly appear. His head was starting to ache. "Lily. I'm sorry. I was asleep."

"Are you – what happened?" Apparently he looked as good as he felt. He rubbed his eyes. "Nothing. Just – you know. The magic drains me." It suddenly occurred to him that something might be wrong. "Why did you come?"

"Because my odds of you coming to _me _were slim." She said tartly. "Can you sit up? I feel – bad telling you off when you're lying down."

Oh. He supposed he had this coming. He angled upright painfully. "Go on. I'm ready."

"Why didn't you tell me they were girls?"

He stared at her. "Who?"

She pointed. He gave her a look of noncomprehension. "What? They shouldn't be _anything _yet. They wouldn't even have eyes."

"Merrill can feel them." She said, her voice so steady it must have taken some effort. "She can feel that they're girls."

Anders hurt, all over, and he'd been roused because Merrill – he made an inadvertent noise of disgust. "She's a blood mage. And she can't even keep rats out of her house, how could she manage that?"

She looked utterly confused. "Then – you can't. Feel them, I mean. As a mage."

"_No. _She was trained by a Keeper, and god knows what the Dalish believe." He squinted sideways at her. She was standing in a shaft of light, and it hurt. "You didn't come here on your own, did you?"

"Sandal's outside." She said with dignity.

"That's all?"

"He doesn't ask questions."

"He doesn't ask anyone _anything_, because he's barely sentient. You've noticed, I'm assuming?"

She stressed him, when she did this, just went tearing off from the house. Did Hawke even know she was gone? He clenched her jaw and lurched to his feet. "It's going to get dark soon. I'll take you back."

"You aren't in any position to be taking me anywhere." She snapped back. "You look _dreadful._ You must be sick."

"I'm not. I just work a bit too hard sometimes."

She was angry with him, he could see it in the set of her shoulders, the small line between her brows, her tight mouth. "Sandal and I will go with you."

"I'm needed here."

"You wouldn't even make a good doorstop as you are now." She said bluntly. "You're going to eat, sleep, and prove to Hawke you aren't inadvertently killing yourself."

"I don't need to-"

"_Anders_." She said, tightly, and he fell silent. "I'm going to put my foot down. And it's not wise to upset a pregnant lady, right? _We _have to talk. And I'm not doing it when you look as wretched and sick as you do." She turned to the door and called Sandal's name, and he heard the jolly dwarf toddling quickly across the wide room. Anders was suddenly, achingly miserable. This was all wrong. _She_, of all people, had to intervene? It was getting out of control. How long could he stagger on like this, not eating, not sleeping, constantly strained and jumping at shadows? Sandal's large head thumped into the side of his ribcage, and he obediently sagged against him.

Hawke was predictably terse with Anders. He cancelled his evening appointments, extracted the mage from Sandal and looked sideways at Lily. "I'll make sure he eats. I need to – you know. Have a few words with him."

She was readily happy to accept that Hawke and Anders needed some man-to-man time, and suspected that whatever needed saying would be better coming from Hawke. She went back up stairs, very aware that she'd pushed herself too far that day. She'd forgotten about Merrill, and jumped a little when she opened the door to find her folded up comfortably on the floor near the fire. Warburton had sprawled himself out beside her, and made a little grunt of welcome. Merrill tilted her head. "Did you forget?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"I can come back."

"No – no. Stay." Bodahn had left her food, and for the first time in what felt like a _long _time, she was ravenous. "Do you want to eat with me?"

"I ate your pear." Merrill said. "I'll be fine."

"Oh – right. Good." She untied her cloak and set it aside, already starting to droop in the warmth. Bodahn had given her roast chicken and a bowl of vegetables, and the smell made her head spin. She picked delicately at a piece of pumpkin. "Merrill, can I ask you about – the girls? What you felt?"

Merrill blinked expectantly. "If you like."

"Anders had no idea. How could _you _tell and he not?"

"Oh! Well, I'd forgotten an important bit. It's an elf thing."

Lily blinked. "_All _elves?"

"No, elves with magic. And not all of them, I suppose. It's just something that crops up. The Dalish have it more often because their Keeper's oversee childbirth as well. Our Keeper did, and she recognised it in me. It's part of why she started training me." Merrill looked over, into the fire. "Though I think if I watched someone give birth I might faint."

"Right." She'd been chewing on a piece of chicken; it was suddenly flavourless. "What do you – feel? When you sense what's inside me?"

Merrill considered for a long time, a wandering hand finding Warburton's belly. "It's a sense of potential." She said carefully. "Of what they _will _be, not exactly what they are now. They've a cloud around them, of – something. Something portent and valuable, but unclear. But they're girls. Definitely."

Lily stared at her. "Oh god."

"I probably shouldn't have told you. I'm sorry. At least you'll have lots of time to think up really nice names."

Lily closed her eyes and pushed her food tray away. "Merrill – I don't feel very good."

"Should I fetch Anders?"

"_No. _I'm just going to go to bed."

Merrill cast a wistful look over her shoulder at the fire. "Do you mind if I just sit with Warburton until the fire dies down? I'm very warm and a bit sleepy."

Lily nodded absently, finding it a little odd how easily she accepted the idea of the strange elf staying in the room with her. "Whatever you like. You can sleep on the couch if you'd like to stay here. There's blankets in the cupboard. I don't mind." She shook off her dress and climbed stiffly into bed in a petticoat. "Sorry, Merrill. I'd meant to be more social."

"Oh, I don't mind. This is nice. And maybe it's not such a bad thing to have one of us here at night."

Lily didn't have the energy to query that, and instead fell asleep with the odd comfort of having Merrill nearby.

Orsino was touchingly glad to see her, and had ensured there were refreshments when she came to his office and extracted herself from her dripping cloak. "The weather looked bad." He said mildly. "I hope the crossing wasn't too dreadful."

"It was all right." She lied, still nauseous and a bit damp from the spray. She couldn't feel her nose. Orsino's green eyes flicked over her, barely perceptively, and he pushed an armchair closer to the fire and gestured for her to take it. "Since you've kindly agreed to help me, I thought we'd best talk briefly about the Circle and what you can expect when you're here. I'm aware that you haven't much in the way of cultural knowledge."

She nodded, relieved. "Please. It'd be nice not to – move away from the fire for a while."

He gave her a very slight smile. "I'd gathered." He laced his long fingers together. "It's important firstly for you to realise that you may be viewed with some suspicion. It's not overly common that a non-mage would willingly choose the company of mages."

She gave him a perplexed look. "As in, what? They might think I'm a mage sympathiser?"

"That's probably the kindest variation. They could also think that you're carrying messages between myself and the underground mages. The – link between yourself and Hawke – and _his _connection with the apostate Anders – has been noted." The skin around his eyes tightened a little. "You might have noticed I've left the door out to the hallway open. We'll probably need to continue that. For the sake of – misunderstanding."

Right. She _did _have something to tell him. "Um-" she said nervously, "this isn't information that I would _offer _to anyone, but it was pointed out to me that it- might affect you. Later. If you didn't know previously." He looked perplexed. She cleared her throat. "I'm pregnant." She said shortly. "It's – very early, but if we'll be working together for a while –"

"Right. Yes, I follow your logic. I'll have a word with Cullen." He tilted his head, considering her. "Thank you for telling me."

"I didn't want you in trouble."

He looked – careful. "This isn't good news, for you?"

"What? I – It's – I don't really know. It's early days."

"You have my sympathy. It must be very hard to be in such an unfamiliar place with this burden." He turned to one side to pick up a sheaf of papers. "Forgive any – assumption, but a sad truth of life in the Circle is unintended conceptions. I would be able to see you to someone who could safely help you, if you wish."

She colored a bit. "That's very kind of you, but it won't be necessary. I'm being looked after. It'll take adjusting, but I'll be all right."

"Would it be unforgivably rude to enquire as to the father?"

It hadn't occurred to her that he might ask. She _couldn't _say Anders. That seemed like a whole world of trouble. Any of them presented issues, to her safety and their own. Grappling with options, she settled on the safest. "It's Hawke's." She said, looking down at her hands. "He is – aware."

Orsino sighed a little. "I am unsure if I should be congratulating him. I'm at least reassured that you are associated with someone in a position to ensure your safety. Insomuch as any of us are, in these times." He paused, for a long moment. "I appreciate that you feel comfortable enough to tell me this."

"No, no. Thank you. You've been very good to me." She was sufficiently defrosted, she decided. She was halfway out of her chair when a notion grabbed her. "Orsino. Um, First Enchanter."

""Orsino", please."

"Can you – sense the child? In me?"

He blinked at her. "You're referencing something very archaic and rather niche, Lily. And almost uniquely Dalish, at that. I am _aware _that you are carrying a child, though at this early stage I wouldn't have noticed unless you'd told me. I wouldn't hazard any information beyond that. It is too unclear." He gave her a puzzled look. "This is something you've encountered, before?"

"Uh – no. No. It was just a thought." She stood, abruptly. "Should we maybe get started?"


	24. Suddenly

Hawke came to fetch her, as he'd promised he would, and since she'd had no time to previous warn him that he'd just become a father, she hoped to god there wouldn't be much opportunity for idle talk with Orsino. "Lily. You're done here?"

Orsino had stood to receive Hawke, and he inclined his head a little. "I can expect you day after next?"

Lily nodded, unsure how to farewell him. "I'll see you later."

"A moment." He turned away, retrieving a wrapped bundle from his desk and handing it to her. "Some reading matter, additional information. I'd like your thoughts on it later."

"Of course." She tucked the bundle under an arm, looking to Hawke, and suddenly mindful of her earlier lies, stepped a little closer to him than she otherwise would. To his credit, he didn't even twitch, dropping a heavy arm around her shoulder. "Until later, Orsino."

"Maker bless, Hawke." Orsino turned back to his desk, and Hawke steered her out, closing the door behind him. He took his arm off her, and she stayed plastered to his side. "Hawke." She said, keeping her voice down. "I need to talk to you."

"Out of the Circle." He said in response, eyes flicking idly to his left where two patrolling Templars watched them go with casual interest. "Back at the house."

"But –"

"You think the ears listening are all mortal and visible?"

Thoroughly spooked, she kept her mouth clamped shut all the way down to the boat.

Either the weather had improved or she was sufficiently distracted, but Lily hardly noticed the ferry ride back, clutching her package and locking her eyes on the wooden floor of the boat and avoiding the eyes of the Templars who crossed with them. One of them muttered something she was sure was about her; his companion sniggered, and her ears went red. Hawke pointedly adjusted a gauntlet and the two fell silent.

They made their way without speaking up through the docks. Lily, bonelessly grateful to be back on the relatively warmer and drier land, let Hawke guide her, drooping a little by the time they climbed the stairs up to Hightown. She had been recovering – slowly – but stairs were still her nemesis, and Hawke took her arm. She sighed inwardly, knowing she must have been physically ailing. She felt huge, these days. Like a big, wallowing hippo in a pit of mud. She couldn't _see _much difference – apart from her still tender, swollen nipples and more stored fat about her hips and thighs – but she _felt _it, as if her whole centre of balance was off. And food was becoming harder and harder to eat. Odd things made her pale with revulsion, and she had urges for food she'd never had previous interest in. And she was tired. _All _the time, it felt like, and her bursts of energy were erratic and short lived. She blinked back to the present when a rush of warmth from the front parlour hit her – she staggered a little, blinking owlishly. Hawke gave her a sympathetic pat on the arm. "I'll let you get some sleep, yes?"

"Wait – _wait. _I need to warn you."

"About what?"

"Hawke!" A stranger's voice chimed in, and Lily jumped, both of them turning to the front parlor, where a tall man strode away from the fireplace and towards him. Lily responsively stepped back, and Hawke very subtly held out a flat palm to her – _it's fine, I know this one_- and she relaxed, a little.

She was unsure how to read him. He looked – very wealthy, very tanned, with alarmingly pale blue eyes, a broad forehead and a very aristocratic nose. He had a slender bow hitched over one shoulder, with the additional feathery stalks of arrows appearing over the other shoulder. The fletching matched the armor. She wondered if this was his doing or someone else. He was – very handsome. Classically so. From a long and noble line of Prince Charmings, she might guess. She was instinctually wary. He'd more or less ignored her. "I'd been waiting. I've got some additional leads I need to talk to you about."

Hawke nodded. "We'll go through to the drawing room, I'm just going to see Lily back upstairs." It was a very gentle reprimand, but the man caught it anyhow, eyes snapping across to Lily, his impressive forehead creasing with consternation. "Oh, my _Lady. _I apologise. I was distracted." He held out a beautifully gloved hand, and she surrendered her own, grateful when he merely bowed over it and didn't kiss it. "Sebastian Vael, of Starkhaven. A pleasure, Lady -?"

"Lily." Hawke said shortly, overriding Lily's immediate response to tell Sebastian she was _not _a lady. "She's my guest, and in delicate health. If you don't mind?"

"But of course. Good evening, my Lady, I hope we have a chance to converse at a more appropriate time." He almost literally backed away, and Lily shot a quizzical sideways look at Hawke, who made a motion for quiet as he guided her towards the stairs. He opened her door for her before talking, keeping his voice low. "Sebastian's a prince. It's a long story, but he's a royal, and for the most part, a good man. A bit religiously inclined, but – good. Can I ask that you don't tell him about – ?" Hawke pointed at her midsection. "He would more or less have kittens. And be sure you were carrying demons or some such thing."

"Oh." She said, starting to feel a little ill again. "Hawke. I need to tell you."

"Can this wait?"

"I'll be _quick. _I told Orsino I was pregnant. And it was yours."

Hawke blinked at her. "Was I asleep?"

"It wasn't _completely _stupid – you seemed the safest option. Anders, Zev _and _Fenris have issues being acknowledged as –"

Hawke quietened her with a waved hand. "Could you warn Bela at some point though? It'll be better coming from you." He ducked away, closing the door behind him, and she slumped into her armchair, prising cold fingers from the bundle she was still clutching to her chest. She could hear Sandal pottering around in the bathing room as she unknotted the cloth covering of her bundle and extracted three small leatherbound academic texts, setting them aside. She unfolded a sizeable map of Kirkwall – something she as yet did not own, and made a soft noise of surprise at Orsino's thoughtfulness. She set it aside for additional reading later, and turned to the rest of the package. She found a painstakingly recorded academic transcript of the events in Kirkwall in the preceding few years, the Qunari revolt, the death of the Viscount and his son – and notably, Hawke featured heavily. _That _was going to be good reading. She set it aside and unearthed a round leather pouch that clinked. She opened it and stared uncomprehendingly at the neat stack of coins inside. There was a note at the bottom that she pulled free – it was a neat chart detailing the currency involved, with 100 coppers equalling a silver and so on. She blinked at it, newly impressed at the foresight of Orsino. Had he just assumed she'd dropped into a situation where no one really had the time to spell out such simple things for her? Whatever his logic, it was incredibly kind. Sandal came ambling out of the bathing room and she blinked at him. "Oh! Hello Sandal."

"Enchantment." He said agreeably, moving for the door. She stood, wincing at her sore joints. "Sandal? Can I borrow you tomorrow afternoon?"

He looked at her, his face as guileless and open as a babys. There was a long silence, and she tried to explain. "To go out. So I don't get lost."

"Enchantment." He agreed, before opening the door. She was unsure if he knew what he'd agreed to, and turned for the bathing room trying to set aside the nagging feeling she'd taken advantage of his simple nature.

She wasn't sure what prompted her to tell Zevran about her and Hawke's apparent child, but he appeared to find it quite hysterically funny. Once he'd calmed himself and wiped his streaming eyes, he was more circumspect. "It makes sense, most obviously." He said, with a twitch of his lip. "And let us face it, our friend Hawke is a fine specimen of masculinity. Quite likely he impregnated you from a very great distance."

She allowed a smile, finally reassured that telling him wasn't a terrible idea. Somehow she didn't think Anders or Fenris would find it as amusing. She wasn't particularly built for keeping secrets, and it felt good to talk to him. He'd made her go over the basic grip and release patterns of the last few days before scattering some couch cushions on the ground and brightly telling her that he considered her ready for disarming and incapacitating. It was with a degree of trepidation that she trod barefoot onto the impromptu mat, but to her relief his training that morning consisted mostly of him guiding her at half speed, him being the lucky party being incapacitated. He appeared to be treading a touch more carefully with her than previously – the roles they were occupying meant that she was mostly touching him and not the other way around, apart from the first initial "assault". Once he'd clambered up from the ground for what felt like the millionth time, he told her they were going to try it at standard speed. She gave him a look of concern. He smirked.

"I assure you, Princess, I am quite safe. I highly doubt at this stage you could hurt me at all."

She took a step back, raising an eyebrow. "That sounds like a challenge."

"And _that _sounds intriguing. By all means, pet, wound my pride." He gave her no warning, as he previously had. His hand clamped on her upper arm and she immediately smacked the side of her hand down on the curve of his wrist, harder than strictly necessary, turning to jab an elbow into his stomach. She managed to hurt her elbow in the process, and squeaked a little in pain as she shifted her balance and lifted a foot to kick out his knee. He didn't obediently crumple as he had been previously, his free arm snapping around and spinning her back to face away from him. Caught by surprise, she faltered, dizzy and staggering, and he tipped her forward onto the pile of cushions with insulting ease. The upholstery around her gave way with a little exhalation of dust and feathers, and she flopped into them with a huff of irritation.

"That wasn't what we practiced!"

"Part two of the lesson, sweet thing. Agressors rarely do what they're supposed to." There was a thump as he settled on his knees behind her. "Face down. Let's take up the difficulty level."

She looked back over her shoulder at him uneasily. "Are you sure?"

"About what? You're capable, if that's what you are querying."

"No, it's just-" she didn't know how to explain without feeling ridiculous. He settled a hand flat on the space above her shoulder, shifting, and with a horrible moment of foresight, she realised what they were doing before he settled his weight across the back of her hips and pressed his fingers lightly into the back of her biceps. "This is the hardest hold to break out of. You're going to have to thrash like a landed fish, if you'll excuse the metaphor."

She barely heard him, feeling like someone had dropped an icecube down her back. She shivered, once, and closed her eyes tight for a moment. The memory had come back to her like a fist in the gut, with such force she was winded. Her skin burned where his fingers touched her, and she could feel his eyes on the side of her head, probably wondering at this stage what the problem was. She exhaled hard, and the shuddering of her breath gave her away. He went still. "Princess?"

She was quiet, probably blushing furiously and without the faintest notion of what to say to him. She cleared her throat, moistened her lips, and still had nothing. Her immediate thought was to tell him to get off her. But it would be a very definite dismissal of the casual contact of the lesson, and would put up a wall that would cause more problems than it solved. And – her blood throbbed in her temples – she was in the grip of such a powerful recollection of their night together that the smell of him, the feel of him was making her shake. She wondered if she was going to unceremoniously faint. She hoped not. It wouldn't do good things for his ego, for one thing. She pressed her eyes closed, breathing slowly, willing herself back into the present. She'd almost made it when he shifted, a tendril of his hair sliding over the back of her damp neck, and he murmured to her, a fraction above her ear. "May I hazard a guess, pet?"

The heat in his voice tipped her over. Unbidden, she gave a very soft moan, her body going slack. His lips brushed the curve of her earlobe, his breath tickling the tiny tendrils of hair behind them. "Say the word, Princess, and I'll let you up."

She couldn't have managed speech if she'd tried, and just managed a stunted sort-of nod impeded by the cushion under her cheek. His fingers touched her cheek, sliding to push the hair back from her neck tracing the still substantial outline of Fenris' scar. "And what may _I _leave on you, pet?" He asked, his voice so soft it wouldn't have travelled beyond a few feet. "How may I content myself that you carry me with you?" He slid his fingers down the back of her neck, and she shivered. "Lilies, maybe? A column of them, up your back? Something as delicate and beautiful as their bearer. Maybe with a crow tangled into them. Hm. I like that." He settled himself a little lower, an unmistakeably intimate move that shifted him back to give him room to slide his hand down the row of small folded latches along her tunic. She felt him breathe into her hair, inhaling deeply, giving a soft sound of pleasure that she felt right down into her bones. She was so lightheaded she felt drunk, and somehow distant, tracing the movement of his fingers down her arm to lace into her own, tightening their combined hands into a fist. Her whole body jerked when he caught her earlobe between his teeth, and she whimpered. She felt him tense against her, heard him moisten his lips and breathe a little harder. "This reaches the point of cruelty, Princess. You need to tell me now if I have overstepped."

She never made the choice to turn over, but she did anyhow, managing to get on to her back within the confines of his arms and knees. It was suddenly startling to find his face so close to hers, his hair on her face, his eyes dark and burning. They looked at each other, very still, neither daring to move. She saw the thought on his face, his eyes flicking barely perceptibly to her lips, his throat shifting as he swallowed. She reached out, her fingers finding the curved tattoo across his cheekbone and skimming across his skin to his hairline. He understood what she was doing a moment before her fingertips made contact with the soft point of his ear, tensing as if in warning a moment before giving a sudden sharp jerk, a hard exhalation of breath and he grabbed her wrist to pull it away as he leaned in to kiss her, _hard_, her jaw aching with the force of him against her, pushing her into the floor. His full weight was on her, his hands wound into her hair, and she struggled against him, wanting to be able to touch him and currently immobilised. He rather effectively stilled her by holding her head below his, holding her eyes, and very deliberately grinding his hips hard into her own. Her entire sense of thought and logic dissipated, and she moaned, pulling against his hands to kiss him again. He held her away from him, watching her struggle, his lips glistening and eyes heavy lidded and fogged with desire, excitement, she didn't know what else. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed, and felt his fingers trace over her collarbone and down to the laces on her tunic.

She tried not to overthink as he unlaced her, squashing down the skeptical voice in her head that wondered at how easily he managed the unfamiliar clothing – one handed, no less – and reached out to smooth her palms onto his back, realizing with some startlement that it was the first time she'd properly reached out to him in intimacy. He'd been so confident the last time – well, the last two times – and to be fair she'd been shy and shell-shocked and very unsure of herself, and happy to be led. It made her feel a touch selfish, a thought reinforced when her arms around him invoked a little sound of pleasure and the gentle pressure of lips in the base of her neck. His fingers brushed gently around the sides of her breasts, infinitely careful, testing the boundaries of her tenderness. He was openly admiring them, raising himself a little to look down at her properly. "They _are _different." He said, a note of delight in his voice. "And absolutely luscious."

"You'd say that. I thought all men liked breasts regardless of size or scale."

"A kind untruth. We have preferences. The prominent one being who the breasts in question are attached to." He slid his fingers under the back of her shoulderblade, pulling her into a very careful embrace. His breath stirred the hair behind her ears. "I'm rather fond of who this pair is attached to."

She was torn between being touched and amused. "Shut _up, _Zev."

He chuckled into the curve of her neck. "As my Princess commands." He pressed into her, his hipbone cutting into the soft flesh of her thigh, and her breath caught, blood thumping in her temples. Suddenly tipped over into blinding, irrational lust, she twisted her legs free and locked them around his waist, bringing her hands up to rake through his hair, hard. His grip on her tightened responsively, and with an audible exhale she felt him slide a hand between them to snag into the laces on her trousers.

His ears were better than hers, and she felt rather than saw him tense, his attention immediately elsewhere. She blinked, confused, as there was a timid knock at the door.

"Master Zevran?" A woman's voice – unfamiliar – though Lily assumed it must be Orana, who she'd only caught slight glimpses of thus far. Zevran's eyes were on the door, frozen still. "Is it important?"

A moment's hesitation beyond the door. "A man to see you, sir. He – has your accent, and told me to let you know that –" she paused, evidently reciting, ""The hawk has behaved as expected". He said you would understand...?" She was evidently bewildered, though probably no more than Lily was at that point.

"What-?"

Zevran made the slightest noise of reproach, and she silenced immediately. He lifted his voice towards the closed door. "Fetch him a drink, Orana. I'll be down in a moment." He didn't move until he heard her dainty footsteps on the stairs, and then he exhaled hard. "Typical." He said, mournfully, angling up onto his knees. "I'm sorry, Lily. Duty calls."

She stared up at him, bemused. "You're going?"

"I must, yes."

"But – what? Why?"

He'd turned away, snagging a tunic and dragging it over his mussed hair. Lily hadn't even managed to sit up before he'd begun lacing up his boots. "It's – not something I can discuss, pet. At this moment, anyhow. I can tell you all on my return."

"Return from _where_?"

"Antiva City, princess." He went still for a moment, then looked up at her, brow creased, beautiful lips tensed into a grimace of discomfort. "Do you believe that I would not leave immediately if it were not important?"

She stared at him. "You're going off to kill someone."

He looked back down at the laces on his feet. "Most likely." He stood, smoothing his hair with one hand, the other snagging a swordbelt from where it was mounted on the wall. He looked back at her when he'd buckled it on, his eyes indecipherable. "You _know _what I am, Lily."

"I don't want you to go." It come out smaller and more pathetic than she'd hoped, and his eyes closed. She'd never seen him serious. _Properly _serious. She felt like she had a sudden understanding of why there were people out there who feared him, which she'd never understood before. She pulled the buttons of her tunic together in a clumsy attempt to cover herself, and felt a telltale burning in her eyes, looking hastily away. He dropped to a knee beside her, and she scrubbed the back of her hand over her eyes. He touched her hair, and she shied away. "Just – come back before – you know." She rolled onto her side and clumsily stood, fumbling with her buttons. She _was _going to cry, and it was going to be epic, and she was _not _going to do it in front of him.

"Lily."

"Look after yourself, Zevran."

"_Lily. _Look at me."

She obeyed, reluctantly. He stood among the scattered cushions, his eyes sad. "I hope you can forgive me, sweet."

She pressed her lips together, struggling to contain the rising lump in her throat, and was unable to reply. She ducked away through the door, hunching inward in response to the clutching nausea in her gut.


End file.
